Outlast Novelization
by Aalt-Jackal
Summary: People were being hurt, and Murkoff was making money. Miles Upshur had plans to gather the evidence that would finally break those bastards, but what he finds waiting for him in Mount Massive is more than he bargained for. Armed with only a camera and his tenacity, would he be able to survive the nightmares fabricated by the minds of broken men?
1. Chapter 1

The Open window

The thin winding road ended some fifteen or so miles back, giving away to rough gravel and a path maintained to the minimum by the vehicles that frequented this route. It was the only existing path out here to my knowledge, and as long as it wasn't washed out my little jeep could make the trip just fine. The nearest town was many miles away, this place was in the literally middle of nowhere, way up in the mountainous region of Colorado. It was a lovely drive with no shortage of scenery, huge pines and long grass taking well to the Autumn months, nice and secluded if you liked that sort of thing on long road trips. Insects swirled and bumbled about in the headlamps seeking the promise of warmth the light offered, fully aware of the harsh chill that was to arrive with the encroaching night. The rocks crunched beneath the tires, but I traveled slow ensuring none of them kicked up into the undercarriage. White noise from the radio helped drown out the rattle and ticks of the raw road.

Due to my inability to sleep - anxiety and a side of anticipation for this assignment - I started out early in the morning long before the sun was up. But I had sorely misjudged the time it would take with the typical delays and stops that were necessary. I didn't appreciate the thought of arriving long after closing hours and camping in my jeep until the morning, but sacrifices were sometimes necessary. On the other hand it would allow me some scoping time, as long as I was not caught poking around the grounds and questioned about my presence.

The trick was not to get caught.

I idly reviewed my day, it was getting late and my brain begins to lag. Long road trips were not uncommon in my line of work, but they were long and dull and nothing could change that. There were a few places I stopped in for the usual, but it was generally not recommended to map out your path with bread crumbs if you intended to harass companies with heavy influence over the general public and its media propaganda. I had dealt with big names in the past but I never made it my business to poke them in the rear and taunt them from the other side of the fence. Business was business, it was my job to gather up the story and put it together for whoever could pay the fee so I could pay off mine.

For this reason I was unable to stay in the local town, no doubt where much of the general facility purchases were made or where the staff would stop in to get away from the hospital. I made a short pit stop here, and asked around if any of the locals knew about the nature of the Asylum.

A few gave me confused looks and I saw the distant haunt on others faces, but otherwise they hadn't heard of the place. Might've been paid to keep their words their own, or they overheard stories from the physicians that came by for a break from the screaming. I couldn't blame them, the locals. They had a nice little town, they didn't need outsiders breezing through stirring up the routine.

The radio was on rambling about weather patterns altering livestock behaviors, the kind of local radio a farming town listened to and not my usual taste, but I didn't feel like listening to soft jazz. Reception would probably give static, not the sort of thing I wanted to fight. I reached into my coat pocket and produced my work phone, an outdated flip phone but good if I was going to lose something. The time read eight o'nine, and it was getting dark, the sun going faster each day in the approaching winter season. Before I put it away I took note the bars blinked, and then disappeared. No reception. Odd, my beat up old mobile could get signals in the Mariana trench. This should come as no surprise given Murkoff's shady work. I pocketed it and returned my attention to the road, taking in small details of the farm report.

There was sparse little information over the web that I could gather before I set out on my assignment. Everything available was pretty basic, third party reports, a few testimonies and some family outcries over the improper treatment of their hospitalized members. If one dug deep enough there were the obscure cases of missing persons, but no valid evidence to incriminate the obvious culprit. At the end of the year a few bureaucrats could earn a bonus, by using their people to keep loose ends tidy.

I moved my mind from that trail of thought and returned to the white noise of the radio, the drone of the speaker as he mentioned low flying helicopters in the area. That could prove to be an interesting evening for the local skeptic, spraying for an infestation of box elders, they say? Is that all? Odd that they chose the late evening hours for this run.

A small smirk grew on my face. Journalism had this reputation among the general public, people thought of us as the religious skeptics, societies tattletales. Always hunting for the next big scoop and looking into anything that had murder, mystery, or government cover up written all over it.

All right, I was investigating shady government involvement, but it was in the complete norm of today's field and research. I was warned people were getting hurt, and it needed some attention if there was any hope to stop it. I had followed Murkoff research for some time, since a colleague of mine released an article about Project Paperclip. It brought to note certain individuals the US had pardoned of War Crimes, and named a few individuals that had been contracted by Murkoff for military research.

In my opinion these people should have been held accountable for their actions, regardless rhyme or reason of the time, but old news was old news. America was big on tolerance and letting bygones be bygones. Didn't change the fact that they were assholes.

Static overtook the radio, the voice distorted and the solid shriek poured through just enough to irritate me. The volume hadn't been high, the ramble mostly to drown out the crunch of my tires and the dreary atmosphere the air had taken. As I turned another bend on the dirt path a sign loomed forth, headlights illuminating the bronze plate with the words

Mount Massive Asylum.

A few yards from the plaque, large gates seemed to jut from the overgrowth of the surrounding forest, the lamps on the symmetrical brick pillars made odd shadows on the trees through the iron grates. I set my foot upon the break as I eased through the yawning gates. This struck me as odd, especially as I came upon a check station with barriers lowered across the road.

There was plenty of space to the side where the watchman on duty would park, thus I maneuvered my jeep into that area and came to a halt. A cloud of dust swirled around the windows as it dispersed off the road, I waited a moment as it settled and put the jeep in park.

This didn't seem right. A watchman should have been on duty, I shouldn't have been able to drive into this place like I was here to visit an old high school buddy. Maybe Murkoff needed to cut employees due to shortcomings in budget? That didn't settle with me either, they kept secrets off radar by running a tight ship. I didn't like the looks of this one bit.

On the other hand, there was no one here to harass me over my arrival. They sent the guard home, we were what? Thirty some odd miles away from the nearest city, who was going to come all the way out to an asylum in the mountains? This rational seemed loose but logical enough.

I took the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. I traveled light, a minimal of carryon's to what would fit in my coat. On my belt was a leather hoister, a secure spot to stash my camera if I needed my hands free. I made sure the loop was sturdy on my belt, then turned to the tools of the trade. One fully charged camera plus extra batteries, and my 'clearance' to this place.

It was a single printed page fitted in a manila folder, simple was order. Once more I took the time to read through the whistleblowers admission.

_September 17, 2013_

_From: 10260110756_

_To: milesupshur_

_Subject: TIP/Illegal Activity at Murkoff Psychiatric Systems_

_You don't know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring._

_I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems' facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA's I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys._

_Terrible things happening there. Don't understand it. Don't believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountain. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money._

_It needs to be exposed._

Mutemail . com was idea for business correspondence wanting to make a secure transaction without their legal or personal information getting attached. I used it occasionally when/if I wanted to give tips to an associate working in a field I couldn't attend personally. For this reason alone I could not hope to backtrack who it was that contacted me, and their reasons for wanting Murkoff investigated.

Never believe the good intentions of a bleeding heart.

I winced and pulled my hand back from the side of the page, examining a thin line of blood on my index finger. Not the worst injury ever, but something about paper cuts had the capacity to make the brawniest man mutter a curse. Like a stubbed toe. I sucked on the wound and leaned over to stuff the folder into a space under my seat, where I pulled out the stitching in the leather exposing the cushion. It might not deter a thorough search, but if they were intent on finding any evidence on me, nothing would stop them from ripping every piece of the car apart. Fun times at the New Mexico checkpoints.

Extra batteries went into the breast pocket and I took up my trusted camcorder. It was a bit tedious but I always felt better making sure the camera was in proper functioning order before I got buried in a story, only to realize…the image wasn't recording, or the audio had failed. Zoom worked, the night vision was not a big asset due to the poor image quality, but it provided valid evidence that was feasible in a court. And last, a small bar of granola for a quick pick-me-up. All I had today was a really good sandwich and a bag of chips, and that was an early lunch.

It wasn't until after I had shut and locked my door that I realized I'd left my press pass still tethered to the visor. I did this all the time, by now I should have known better and clipped it to my coat when I had committed to this trip. But giving another look to the imposing edifice looming before me I decided to let it go. There was no one around that I could see, aside from a surveillance camera that whirled in slow precision left and right every five minutes. Chances are someone already knew I was here, but no one had come to 'greet' me yet.

As the thought cleared my mind the gates behind me jarred, I whirled about surprised, having not expected the loud clatter in the near dead silence. I was a little high strung, the atmosphere was getting to me despite how nice and clean the air smelled. For emphasis I took a breath gathering the scent of pine, dry brush, and the wisp of rain - fresh mountain air they called it. After calming myself I turned and began toward the large gate, cautiously. The watchman could be a red herring and there could be other methods implemented to keep out intruders. So far I knew the cameras still worked, they were operational in that sense. Was someone watching from afar?

The watchman's office was left wide open, crisp leaves crunched underfoot as I lingered at the threshold. I could not detect a presence and there was little space where one could hide within. Entering fully I observed the billboards behind the long desk pinned with notices, some kids drawing, and reminders. The latest dating back to the end of July, nearly a month prior.

I reflected briefly on the words of my contact. "Dream therapy going too deep….Something waiting in the mountains." With a shake I turned and left the office, the monitors had been stalled out on menu screens prompting passwords and a phone hummed with a line busy. None of this seemed right. Was this mess connected to my lead?

No, it couldn't be. My contact might have been fired from Murkoff at the end of August, before they found me in the system. They gave me the tip but that was the extent of their involvement. But I did leave the theory on a back burner, far weirder conspiracies had proven authentic. I needed to keep an open mind and take in everything I saw, and interpret it to the best of my knowledge. Later I could go back and authenticate my findings.

The road lead to a large set of gates, but these appeared firmly shackled and no harsh word would convince them otherwise. Moving closer to them I was prepared to climb over, but took note of the small metal door nearly invisible in the shadows. With a gentle push the door swung away, admitting me onto the front grounds. From a distance everything seemed natural, but the closer I moved the more the hair prickled up the back of my neck. This place with its neatly trimmed lawn and acutely cut brush seemed more malicious than Charlie Manson's Seasons greeting card.

Now was a good time to test my camera, assure myself that from here on out, it would capture all events important or remedial for later use.

"_I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards._"

Always, I carried a pen and a small notebook the size of my palm, for jotting down quick notes to keep track of the bulk of what would be essential findings. I tacked down the time and date on the top of the page, for easy documentation later.

I hadn't even set foot in this place yet, and already I felt a sense of foreboding, akin to some unnatural danger my mind couldn't hope to comprehend. For several minutes I stood staring up at the high spires piercing the coming night, as though tearing the sky open and spilling its dark shadows on the grounds below. The silhouette of the jagged mountain backdrop somehow made the entire edifice seem ominous. My eyes snapped back to the murky windows when I thought I saw a light, movement. There was nothing visible now, and I jotted it down with the creeping vibe that saturated this area. As I lowered my gaze I took note….

Of jeeps? Military vehicles. I walked up the path toward the vehicles, the fallen leaves crunch under foot, echoing off the cold cement of the monstrous construct. Now that I thought on it, the grounds were not as well kept as I had initially thought. The smaller bushes along the steps looked distressed and dried from drought, one of the lamps lit on the center lawn was broken, the light and its house swinging by its cord. This did not bother me as it probably should have, I was already distracted by the Humvees or whatever parked in front of the main entrance. They gave off soft chatter, possibly for a satellite bypass due to the jammers. As with the yard, they too were neglected. Leaves had gathered on the hood and wheel wells, but otherwise they seemed undisturbed by anything.

I understood nothing of the military's involvement at this point. They were not here to aid the victims of Murkoff's activities, but had something gone wrong inside that I was not yet aware of? Had someone from the inside attacked the facility directly? If so, why were the vehicles out here neglected, what had become of the militants called in? It could be that Murkoff overstepped their boundaries of research, and the military was summoned to clean up matters before the public was made aware of it. From where I stood it was unclear if either of these scenarios held ground, the only way to discover the truth was to enter the facility myself and hunt for the answers.

The main entrance of Mount Massive was within my reach, but the doors were locked. Not only locked, it felt like they were cemented shut. Despite this, I didn't want to call it a night, I turned to look on my right, southwest I decided, and back north the way from which I came. Dark clouds had gathered just above the mountains, ominous monsters rumbling with fury and flashing white bolts at odd spells. A storm I had managed to keep ahead of since I awoke earlier that morning. Birds were flying south, away from the rolling thunderhead. It would hit within the hour, I could manage a quick scout around and be back to my jeep before the first drops hit. The wind picked up ruffling my collar and I clutched my coat a little tighter around me, envisioning the hard, cold beads. Admiring Mother Nature had not benefited me at this point.

There was a gate just off to the right of the main entrance, down some steps and leading to what looked like a side yard for employee parking. A thick chain was wrapped about the bars, effectively deterring most trespassers. To my left and up a long pathway was a smaller gate that held promise, but that too was shackled securely. If I couldn't find a way in I'd camp out in my jeep, wait and see the storm pass or until light gave me a better perspective on my options. A metal gate shackled with chains was no deterrent but I'd rather exhaust my options before I went hopping fences.

I jogged across to the other side of the front entrance and found another gate, bound tight with chains. But there was large break in the bars just in the corner. What had done this I did not really give a damn, I slipped under and gave the side yard a look over. It appeared much the same as the front, neglected foliage, an inactive fountain. Nothing to note, but it appeared Murkoff had needed to do some renovations on the front wall here. Or maybe just plain old repair work. At any rate, scaffolding was set up along the lower level windows.

A little to my right was solid looking metal door, I imagined it would be locked and my suspicions were confirmed when I made way up the steps to rattle the handle. There seemed to be no 'legal' way to enter the building, or an easy way to get in without going to too much trouble. I took out my camera and filmed over the yard and zoomed in on the fountain. The warmer air from the afternoon was condensing against the chilled air from the water, generating an eerie fog that settled over the bushes. I walked around the path circling the fountain and turned the camera back to my main focus, the façade of a hospital.

High above something glittered on the wall and I zoomed out just a bit to take in the amplified details. Now I could clearly see broken glass framed around a window that needed to be replaced. Thankfully, Murkoff had not made it to that point, but why hadn't they? This should have been a top priority, unless something more pressing had come up.

Whatever had happened, I needed to find out.

I strapped my camera in and walked along the scaffolding, easily locating a ladder set up for easy access. They might have as well invited me through the front doors. From the top of the ladder it was a simple matter of navigating the plywood set out for the workers. I pulled myself up a ledge and teetered over some precarious boards, directly to the shattered window I had spied from below. The glass cracked under my feet, and I gave it my attention before turning to the lit frame.

The workers were here removing glass, that explained why there were shards on the platform. They had ceased before they had begun the actual work.

As I pondered this, a lazy gust of air hit me full in the face. I gagged at the stench in the humid air, it was stale and had the faint traces of decay. A prominent contrast to the cool and fresh night air, I stuffed my nose into my sleeve and coughed. Turning once more to the window, I stared up over the ledge noting that there was no remaining glass along the edge, I could easily pull myself up into the building.

But was this a good idea? Nothing here made sense, it screamed more beyond a hidden conspiracy and blood money. But what if people were hurt? I needed to get out of here, reach the nearest town and demand the police to come check this out.

That wouldn't work, I reflected. If Murkoff had a blackout over this area the police couldn't touch them, not without proof things had turned bad. Aside from that, the military trucks parked out front. Where were those guys?

Before I could argue against a bad decision I leapt up and hauled myself over the ledge, careful of any glass I might've missed. Almost at once the only source of light, a damn light bulb flashed and popped out. Something shifted near me. I spooked and nearly propelled myself backwards out of the window and too certain doom, but caught myself the instant before. Crouching low I fumbled for my camera and brought it up, the nightvision flashed on in the visor with absurd clarity and I could see only an upturned chair near me.

And dark stains on the carpet. About my size. The NV didn't permit color, but I could tell by the scent that it must've been blood, and that would explain some of the odor thick in this room. I was right that someone could be hurt, there were signs of a struggle everywhere.

I navigated around the room avoiding another chair and a slaughter of books left across the floor. The air was thicker and worse now the deeper I went, there was an oppressive aura settling on my shoulders. I had hope that once I was out of this particular room I would feel better, my fears would be unfounded and I would see what had really happened here.

I was to be proven wrong. The door before me was left ajar but I pulled it gently towards me, listening for sounds, any signs of life. There was a hall beyond the door, decorated with short pile carpet and outdated wall paper with elegant wood panels.

But the walls were speckled with scorch marks, bullet holes along its length. My left was blocked by filing cabinets and a book case, much the same was on my right. The only course left to me was the open doorway across from the room I had entered. The pestering thought entered my mind that now was a good time to leave, but I had lowered my camera.

Yes, it looked like a shit storm had blown through, but there was nobody around. Where was everyone? My path seemed linear enough, I couldn't get lost and I could always find my way back out. I just needed something solid then I could yellow belly the hell out of here.

Entering the room, I raised the camera to take in the small details while I could, something to check later if I couldn't find anything more concrete than upturned furniture and an obscure black stain. The room looked like some sort of lounge, thick office chairs placed orderly and facing a large flat screen on the wall. Murkoff new how to keep people happy, unless its broadcasts were full of self-centered promotion. A few floor boards groaned with each step, but nothing –

A piercing shriek had me leaping backwards over a chair, I nearly dropped my camera but managed to save it by landing on my leg. For a moment I lay stunned with pain and shock until everything cleared, and I glared over at the static filled screen of the previously compliant television. Right then and there I decided I hated this place with everything in me. After getting back on my feet I took a few steps, working out the bruise that no doubt was forming on my thigh. I'd live.

There was no defining reason for the TV to activate, unless it had a short of some sort. I didn't stick around to deduce the nature of inanimate objects, a clock on the wall showed that it was already nine o'clock, I needed to hustle.

Same as the first door, the next was left ajar. I met the hall turning to check my previous path, unchanged, then turned to see where I could venture. Thankfully this hall was clear for the most part, the door across from me appeared barricaded shut with plywood. I gave the wood an experimental tug and confirmed, yep, it was solidly nailed to the wall. I didn't want to dwell on why. The other side of the hall appeared none more hospitable from a glance, crammed tight with office furniture of all sort, only short of the kitchen sink. I might need to clear a path if I could, but as I approached it looked as though the cabinets and bookcase had been shoved far enough apart that I could slip between. It seemed worthwhile, I put my camera away and sucked in my nonexistent gut as I slide between them.

The first thing I noticed was the red splotches on the carpet. I stared at them for a long time as the light overhead flickered, threatening to give out at any moment. A few large red smears sat high on the wall, what looked like handprints, probably were. More score marks in the plaster from what I decided where automatic rifles, a weapon which here didn't seem to make a difference. I snapped out of my stupor enough to raise the camera and film everything, I kept it trained to the walls as I entered the next room on my left.

The only light source was a lamp and a monitor on a desk, out of curiosity I moved to see what the screen might reveal but was annoyed to find another blue screen prompting a password. I could try to hack it.

Or I could take the battery that was left in the drawer and leave this room. Before leaving the room I stopped to listen, picking up on a soft tap that came in rhythm. I was relieved to find it was only a branch tapping outside the window.

I hated this place.

Halfheartedly, I filmed the blood marks left in the hall, avoiding them as I stepped carefully seeking more evidence. I needed something to cement what I was seeing, that everything here was authentic and bring in the cops.

At the time I did feel like an idiot, but try convincing your supervisors that what you're trying to sell them is the real deal. You will always be glad to put in the extra effort, even if at present you feel like a complete lunatic pursuing it.

I could pick up the strong stain of copper, it was impossible with the pools of blood splattered here. If you have ever come in contact with a large sum of blood, someone that's been in a terrible accident, you'll never forget that bite of copper. I snorted and coughed, that linger of rot again. I had a fear that I was going to open a door and there'd be a dead body, flies and maggots. Everything. I didn't need to see that, but it'd probably be the concrete evidence I needed to get my ass out of here.

From what I could tell there had been some sort of fight, a struggle. Maybe due to the military's involvement, but where were they now? My earlier theory, perhaps someone or a group attempted to lay siege to Murkoff within the facility, the military would have been called in. That question bore a hole into my mind, I felt like I was missing some vital detail as I scanned the hall. What had become of the militants?

The door on my left was open, the incessant hum of a phone off the hook tempted me to either hang it up or throw it. I stood by the desk and set the phone on its receiver, then picked it up and tried to dial a number. The busy signal buzzed into my ear and I left the phone as it had been previously. It had been worth a try. I gave the room a look over, my eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark now, I could make out boxes of presumably files, a chair, nothing remarkable.

Checking the desk once more before leaving I noted the pale blue folder I nearly missed. The words CONFIDENTIAL stamped in red across the front, advertising for any curious soul to come along and invade its private contents. I gave it some thought, not a whole lot before I picked up the folder. After another thought, I pulled out the camera and used the photo image to take pictures. There were a few pages, two I took some interest in.

_MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS_

_PROJECT WALRIDER_

_Mount Massive CO_

_Case Number: 174_

_Patient Initials: WPH, 'Billy'_

_Consultation Dated: 2012.10.14_

_Initial Date of Patient Consult: 2009.04.12_

_Patient Age: 19_

_Gender: Male_

_Observing Physician: Dr. Carl Houston (DBNR)_

_THERAPY STATUS:_

_Patient claims to have progressed to self-directed lucid dream states. MORPHOGENIC ENGINE activity observed at unprecedented scale. Continuing stage 4 hormone schedule._

_DIAGNOSTICS:_

_Spirometry revealed no bronchial accumulation._

_Hematocrit centrifuge again failed to separate erythrocytes. Highly worrisome._

_MRI revealed arrhythmic REM/NREM cycle. Laughter in NREM state._

_INTERVIEW NOTES:_

_Billy asked about the status of his mother's lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum. This represents a catastrophic breach in security, despite Billy's claims that he discovered the truth 'in the blood dreams of Doctor Trager.' (Note: the only Trager on company records, one Richard Trager, is an executive from M.R.D.) All orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved to include analytical biometrics._

_MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER_

_Mount Massive CO_

Maybe this document meant more to the scientists working in the asylum, a lot of it was gibberish to me. Aside from the lawsuit this 'Billy' asked about, or was brought up. Classic Murkoff evasion, I felt like I was really getting to know this company, and it sickened me the more I thought of how chummy we could get. I left the file as it was, but not before making sure I could read it clearly on my camera

Exiting the room, I turned my attention to the final set of doors at the end of the hall. I couldn't help but notice a set of bare footprints made with a puddle of blood fading in the same direction I was headed. But the blood looked black and dried, whomever had come through here was hopefully not around anymore.

I approached the nearest door that was left ajar, coming up short when it creaked shut on its own. For a moment I stood staring at the dark oak, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

On the other side of that door was a person.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer disclaimer. inconsistencies and redundant details, please note me and I will fix. Enjoy<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Locked in

A part of me wanted to be civil and give the door a gentle knock, even if it was the bathroom. My better judgment warned me to let this be and move on, but stay away from this.

Quietly I approached the glass door across from me, it was locked firmly. I could feel my heart beat with urgency, I didn't want to be near this door when its occupant decided to leave. The other room across from the latrine was open but it was a dead end.

Or it would be if you were physically incapable of climbing up a wall.

It was a small staff lounge, sinks at the far wall and vending machines offering coke across from me. My attention went first to the vent where above it, blood dripped from a crimson stain in the ceiling creating a large moist puddle on a slope of plywood, materials not yet used for barricades or ripped from barricades. I had concerns with that stain, but it was a whole floor above and out of my care. The vent was already torn off its screws, I only hoisted myself up into its safe cradle and felt around for a path. The metal thudded as I bumbled around with cobwebs, but I found a direction that seemed open and began that way. I was about to bring my camera out and check where I was going, when my attention snapped to the loud crash of a door right below the flue I was currently in

"—Rider! Not again!" I didn't get a good look at whoever it was. He crashed out of the bathroom and glanced around the room I had been in prior, I held my breath as he turned and looked directly at the vent I was in. "NO!" And with that he turned, slamming the door shut behind him.

I was baffled but no less thankful, I don't know who he was or what he was on about but I'm certain that might have been a patient.

But he shouldn't be out running around like that.

I decided not to question these issues, not until I had someone that knew exactly what the hell was going on here. All I had were speculations, doubt, suspicions and the dreaded paranoia. None of that would get me anywhere.

The vent came to an end at a large open corridor, as I dropped down I thought I saw someone running along in the adjacent corridor. But the glass was the decorative distorted stuff, I couldn't trust what I thought was there. Though I felt certain I saw movement.

It looked like the upper corridor circled around the lower, wide open floor plan. Wood built the base of the wall, and large glass windows extended to the ceiling. I put my sleeve to my nose and scanned the lower floor, the glass made it difficult to see, but I thought I saw someone sitting in a chair within a square desk. If that were so, I didn't need him spotting me wandering around up here. I went to the nearest available door on my left but found it blocked, or the lock jammed. I don't believe a small trolley made an effective barrier. The other end of the hall was stacked with all manner of furniture, chairs, bookcases, and cabinets. I couldn't fathom the point of all this, aside from becoming a nuisance to my progress. The next door beside me was left ajar, I gently pushed it open—

He lunged at me screaming, and I put my arms up to defend myself only to realize his head was missing. IT WAS FUCKING GONE! I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE HELL IT WAS, IT WAS GONE!

That was it! That had done it! The last thing on my mind was recoding the decapitated body flapping about as I turned on my heel and flew right back up into that vent. I made a tremendous ruckus of sound as I dragged myself all the way to the room, where that person had barged in screaming nonsense. My landing wasn't too graceful, but I did land on my feet before stumbling and slamming into the door.

Only to find that it was locked. Locked! As in, I was trapped in here now? Really? I hit the door, banged my palms against it, determined to devise some way to tear it down. A piece of wood was not going to stand between me and living.

"What do you want?!" A muffled voice harked from the other side.

I stopped. This didn't sound like a helpful man. I knocked again, gently this time.

"Not this time! You took the light, but not me! Can't sleep, doctors waiting there. They made the hurt. The ants in my blood…."

Quietly, I returned to the vent as the pounding commenced on the door. I climbed up into the cold metal and made the trip as before, only with less noise, back to the glassed in hall.

The door had been left open, the body lay beside the frame with thick blood spilling from the tattered neck. From the room emanated an overpowering wave of putrid spoil that caused my eyes to water, but I managed to keep it together. Barely. I stepped by the body and pulled up my camera, the room was pitch black but I wished I could make my way through without the camera. Nonetheless, I recorded everything I was seeing, from here on out. There was no way Murkoff would get away with this horror.

Bodies suspended from the ceiling, bodies lay on the floor, headless, nametags revealing them to be Murkoff Advanced Research. I toggle between shielding my nose from the reek and using the same arm to keep my balance. I try not to step on them, or bump them with my feet as I navigate among the book shelves. It's hard to tell which is a body and which are books flattened into the floor. On the shelves the eyes of dozens of men glitter like jewels, their heads, oh my god….

As I turned the corner and backed up I felt something brush my head. My eyes bulge out of my skull as I whirl around, nearly getting smacked in the face as the man reaches out for me, gasping. He wore a tact vest, body armor, everything, yet here he is jammed on a sharpened stick amongst the bodies of his dead comrades; ripped to pieces on the floor beneath him.

I could literally feel my brain shutting down.

"They killed us. They got out," His voice gurgled but he persisted to keep his words clear. "The Variants. You can't fight them…have to hide. ….can unlock the main doors from Security Control." At this point, whether to alleviate his pain or in some last desperate fight for survival, the solider attempts to pull himself off the spear. "You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place." With the last of his strength diminished, his arms go limp and his head slumps against his chest.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I'm still filming as I back away from this man, even after I bump into a wall and drop to my ass. I fumble with the camera till it is off then sit quietly in the dark for some time, listening to the buzz of the flies as they have their time with the pile of corpses. No doubt they're exploring their new vessel.

I can't think about that. I press myself against the wall and pull my knees up and loop my arms around them. The rooms not cold, but I feel a chill seeping into my bones that I cannot escape no matter how hard I quiver. How many people have died here? Why?

Don't think about it. I drop my head to my arms and try to ignore the sounds of insects, I try and hide from the decay of human bodies. I have seen terrible shit in my day, taken pictures of people torn to pieces, children cut in half.

Nothing like this. This was indescribable. This was evil. There was something buried here beyond my perception, and it was evil to the core. Whatever had made it had done so with no other purpose, but to prove god was wrong about so many things.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, it might've been hours, it could have been minutes, but I finally picked myself up and shook off the tremors. What did the cop tell me? The way out was through the main doors, but they were locked and I needed to access them through the Security Control.

I managed to find a door that would lead me out of this room, for good. But I paused in a thin blade of light to jot down what I had found so far.

"_I'm inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say "Murkoff Advanced Research Systems". Murkoff's longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of crazy people? There's some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out and then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came."_

I frown at the last line. Should have listened to my gut instinct, but I didn't. Stuck here in this god damn nightmare, but I didn't plan to die here. Someone had to get out of here and reveal what happened, and direct the blame to Murkoff. I plan on it being me.

Carefully I pull the door open and step out, immediately I crouch low when I hear muttering. It was a rough voice, talking about precautions and status…I can't be sure. I wait until I hear a door slam shut, announcing the departure of whoever was there. I hope to never meet them.

Some of this was beginning to make sense, I reflect on the overturned bookcases and cabinets lodged in the hallways blocking paths. These specialist were called in, hired guns for Murkoff, maybe working for the CIA in a different branch or something. They were fighting these Variants, he called them, and failed. Their final moments of desperation are shown in the furniture that was left askew everywhere.

I didn't want to dwell on what chances I had of seeing the outside world again. If a whole team of trained military men couldn't stop whatever these people they were fighting. What chance did I have? They had guns, I had a…camera.

A hall led to dark unknowns at my right, I felt my way along the wall for a distance before pulling up the camera. A door on the left had been barred shut, but the latrine opposite of it looked accessible. I crept around the corner pushing the door open and peered inside.

There was not much, only a shattered mirror and a toilet with blood coating it. My shoes squeaked as the liquid clung to them. In the toilet was the stump of an arm. Gently, I shut the door and returned to the light of the hall, my camera was flashing indicating the night vision was low on power. Once I changed out the battery I'd be back to two, it was still better than one. Even without power the NV would still work to some degree, amplifying the light source if it was available. This was better than stumbling around totally blind.

A set of bookcases had been lodged in the hallway, but there seemed to be enough space for me to get through. On the other side was a doorway leading into another hall, there might be a way to the lower floor from there. I'd get a better look once I was there. I sucked in my gut and secured the camera in its pack as I—

"Little PIG!"

A vice grip crushed my arm and ripped me out of the tight space, I grunted with pain as what looked like a man, set his hands on my shoulders and sneered in my face. It felt like his fingertips were digging through my coat and piercing into my skin. I panicked and yelped, grabbing at his arms as he fixed his grip and shook me, I was still trying to get him to loosen the hold on my throat as he slung my body up over his shoulder. It registered a moment too late he intended to throw me, I tried to grab him up until my body smashed into something hard and my vision hazed over. I howled in pain as I fell, my legs above me and I had no idea where the groun—

Everything was black. I caught the scent of an old office, moldering floorboards and stale wallpaper. I smelled copper, but that could have been the taste in my mouth. Someone was humming nearby, too close for comfort.

The recent events flittered through my mind little by little. I was at Mount Massive, I didn't want to be here. People were dead, I had to get out. I was pitched through a wall like a human football and…I didn't feel good at this point. I struggled to pull my thoughts back, open my eyes and see what was there. Maybe it was better I didn't.

The humming was close now, I thought I heard someone speaking? My eyes wouldn't obey my command, I was drunk with a concussion but I didn't need to sleep it off. My arm jerked with a misfire of neurons, I managed to get my eyes open enough to focus on my arm and beyond it a bright, glaring light fixed on me. I shut my eyes and maybe passed out for a few more seconds.

When I came around again I felt a presence invading my personal space, with a little less force I managed to open my eyes and turn my head up to that same glaring light. I saw black robes, a familiar pattern, and a face gazing down on me. For some reason I didn't feel comforted, though his voice attempted to sound soothing.

"And who are you, then?

My head dropped back, I couldn't do it. If my mind wasn't shattered by the end of this, then my body sure as hell was. I was barely dropping back into sleep when I felt my visitor jerk at my belt. Lifting my head again, I managed to get my eyes open and focused on him as he pulled up my camera. I could only imagine what he'd want with it, it had all my evidence, but I wasn't in the position to fight him for it.

I'll admit I was stunned when he opened the visor and I presume, viewed what I had already recorded. He took a moment to process this, his face shifted from stun to some form of aspiration.

"I …I see. Merciful God you have sent me an apostle."

What?

He set my camera down somewhere, then placed his hand upon my chest as though transferring his will into me. "Guard your life son. You have a calling."

At this point I was done. It would probably not be recommended by doctors, but I blacked out. My body was in pain, I needed to get my shit together. I didn't spare a moment to consider while lying here half dead, that big fucker could just hop on down and finish me off. If that were the case, I'd be better off unconscious.

By the time I was able to get myself under my own terms, the 'Priest' was gone. Didn't know what to make of his delusions, didn't really care too much for it either, as long as he wasn't near me. I still struggled to get my eyes open but I was able to sit up. I winced to pain along my upper side. It was either a bad sprain in the muscle when I hit, or cracked ribs. From the taste on my tongue, I was going with the ribs.

Beside me was the camera, safe and still in my possession. I took the time to make sure it was still in good functioning order, everything checked out fine aside from some color distortions. As long as it was still recording, that was more than I had expected from the fall. I secured it in its pack, then leaned over to push myself up on my hands. I winced and groaned against the pain in my chest, I was lucky my spine hadn't shattered from that fall.

Looking back up from where I had been thrown (there was a huge hole in the glass) I estimated my chances were favorable for me walking away, but still I considered myself lucky. As I looked around along the corridor I had previously traveled within I noted the crimson scribble on the outer side of the wall

Proclaim the Gospel

The ground floor lobby was much of the same décor as the previous upper level I had explored. What looked like the administrator's desk had blood pools and another of Murkoff lay slain, his organs spilling from his midsection. Flies pestered the area filling my head with the monotone of snapping wings. I looked away avoiding the small shift in the gore, their offspring would enjoy in full their inheritance. Within the small island was the person I had seen from the bottled corridor, but with despair I saw that my fears had been premature. He has been dead for some time.

It seemed wrong to lift my camera now and film their corpses forgotten and mutilated as they were, but I had obligations to fulfill. I didn't want to stop now, there was no telling what else I would find, but somehow I feared this wasn't the worst of it.

Moving around the crimson puddle I entered the block desk and held a sleeve against my nose to ward off some of the smell. The phones here were off the hook, I set one on its panel only to dull out the drone. Another blue file was left out, its pages slipping from the confidential folder. I flipped it over, pausing as a sudden crash echoed from somewhere else in the building, its origins a total mystery. I thought I heard someone shrieking and laughing.

_THE MURKOFF CORP. United States Office_

_WARRANT FOR SEIZURE CASE NUMBER: 294758104_

_In the Matter of the Seizure of: MOUNT MASSIVE PSYCHIATRIC CENTER_

_MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS Mount Massive Wilderness Area_

_Country Road 112_

_Affidavit(s) having been made before the BOARD OF DIRECTORS by MURKOFF HARDLINE SECURITY (M.H.S.) who has reason to believe: CATASTROPHIC SECURITY FAILURE OF PSYCHIATRIC CENTER WITH IMMINENT DANGER OF ENVIRONMENT CONTAMINATION_

_We are satisfied that the affidavit(s) and testimony establish sufficient evidence to require urgent action on the part of M.H.S. and grounds for the issuance of this warrant._

_You are hereby required to grant M.H.S. full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relative) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility._

Environmental contamination? This document was not indicating the mentally ill patients, was it? How could bureaucrats go about calling escaped lunatics 'environment contamination'? That was too sterile a term to use. Though I wouldn't put it past them using a phrase like that, but it didn't add up here. They weren't that clever.

The tactical cop was a part of the squad called in to scrub away the incident, the MHS assigned to Murkoff's watch, orchestrating 'accidents' if people got too close or causing a lot of damage if something went bad. I couldn't imagine normal human beings holding off this MHS while they attempted to retake the facility, given these 'Variants' were lunatics and some might not give a damn if they were shot to pieces, they were still mortal. How could they slaughter a whole team of expertly trained killers? I had heavy doubts that they had come here to take care of the big fucker specifically, but he was a high suspect on my list.

I flipped the page over finding no date, nothing to indicate when this was sent. But I already knew Murkoff had been here for years doing whatever it was that they were doing. Something had happened in this facility that someone didn't like, and they had attempted to stop it or fix the problem. With fatal results.

I went over the two pages, even the lame blank page with the lone 'Responsibility' printed at the top. What a waste of trees.

Across from the administrative desk awaited the main doors, with some sort of lock bolted into them. I crossed over to them in no hurry, the MHS cop made it clear that they were inaccessible. Where was it I needed to go to open them? My mind was still fuzzy from that fall, and I was brushing bits of glass out of my hair. When I pulled my hand away it was bloody, but I wasn't too concerned as it was already sticky and drying. Head wounds tend to bleed a fuck lot, and glass only made it worse. Again, I was very lucky.

More bodies hidden in the shadows became visible as I neared them. More employees bloody and broken, limbs twisted in unnatural ways that made my skin crawl to stare at. To me it looked like someone had buried mini explosions in their stomachs, the results splattering their entrails in all manners of heinous over the floor and nearby furniture. The body nearest to the door looked as though he had fallen and been dragged a short ways. A set of footprints led from red pools to the doors. Had the staff been trying to escape?

I tried the doors out of habit but like from the outside, I found them nearly cemented shut. It was some sort of electrical lock, hopefully the mechanism for it still worked as most everything in this place seemed to. Who paid the electric bill?

My arm ached, not broken but sprained. As I explored the visible rooms over I massaged it. That damn leather face had nearly ripped my arm clean out of the socket. Suddenly my rib cage didn't seem so sore.

All the windows that I could see were covered over with a thick grade of chicken wire. I entered one room with a man left to rot in a fire place, aside from his presence the office was orderly and untouched since the time the shit hit the fan. I made sure to shut the door behind me then pulled back the curtains to examine my possible escape. I'd feel better if I had one back up plan, even if it was a meek false hope.

When you lock a lot of mentally disturbed people up under one roof, you wanted to make sure they didn't spill out and irritate the lucid folks. Or 'environment contaminate' the area, as Murkoff liked to put it. Mesh wiring would settle this concern, nothing Murkoff needed to fret over. It seemed to work too well.

Many moons ago I watched a movie, "One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest." I'll spoil it and say the big guy escaped the psychiatric ward by throwing a toilet through a window. Maybe my big guy had seen it too, but that was a trail of thought I did not want to entertain tonight.

After securing my camera in its pack I went to the desk and tested the heavy chair left there. With a little straining I could lift it up a few feet, but the sharp pain along my side canceled this thought, and I collapsed over the arm. Yes, I think a few ribs were cracked.

In my defense I did give it another try, this time sliding the chair along the floor and pushing it up against the wall. I supported the bulk of its weight on my good side, leaned back then propelled it forward into the glass. This time I toppled over the chairs legs and rolled over, the burn in my chest took its sweet time subsiding before I could lift my head and gaze upon my work.

Not even a scratch.

Murkoff might've installed shatter proof glass in the lower wings, I couldn't know. Whatever, I wasn't getting out this way.

I returned to the lobby and looked around. There was an elevator, but I doubted it would work, and in the unlikely hood it did just to spite me, I didn't need to use it. There was a corridor to the right I hadn't explored, near the broken gate of the door was a plate labeling directions to the nearby areas. Electric room, Library and the MHS cop, Recreational Hall upstairs, Cafeteria upstairs, and a Chapel. I raised my eyebrows to the ideal of a church in this place and thought again of my 'friend', and felt the chill of unease ice through my veins.

Security was labeled first on the plate, and indicated down this hall.

Before entering full into the bright light, I checked around the opening of the segregation gate. My mind lingered elsewhere, where had the Priest gone? I had some shred of desire to meet the guy and get some sort of answers to my questions, even if they were full of Biblical praise or damnation.

As I moved deeper into the hall, I stumbled and ducked into the nearest room on my left as someone dashed across at the far end. I peeked around the corner and saw whoever it was banging at a door until it gave, then he dove inside. This might've put me to ease, but there was too much blood on the floor to improve my mood.

I reflected on my thought patterns lately in an introspective way, and decided I was either in shock or I was at the threshold of insanity. I needed to keep my wits about me, needed to think critically and keep myself from getting killed like the tact cop.

My foot squeaked on the tile, startling me out of these thoughts. I spun around falling to my ass to find I had been knelt in another pool of blood. What in hells name happened here?

Crouched low I shuffled forward and reached up to pull the stall open. You weren't even safe on the crapper, another body slumped on the toilet with fresh blood spilling down the drain. The words WITNESS were sloppily painted on the pristine tile wall behind him. I wasn't too anxious to speak with this 'Priest' now.

"_I'm already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, couple cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I'm getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the "Priest" is writing them, and for my benefit._"

I shivered as I wrote down the title, "The Witness" and lowered my camera. This body was fresh, the blood still swirling down the drain I stood over. How long ago had he been alive? How long had I been out? So many things could have happened to me while I lay unconscious. I had to get out of here.

Across from the public bathroom was another open room. Entrails and pieces of human anatomy were strewn over shelves that had once held boxes full of files. I pulled my collar over my face as my shoes squeaked over the floor. There was another door beyond the industrial shelves, barricaded on my side, and two bodies strewn on this side of the room. They must have tried to lock themselves in here, but it didn't seem to help much. Another thing that was beginning to disturb me.

Where I went my shoes agitated the viscous pools of blood, I was leaving footprints almost everywhere. I wasn't too comfortable with this, but this didn't immediately alarm me. What did was the lack of footprints.

A lot of these people looked as though they were in great pain, torn to pieces by some force. They had been fighting to escape, struggling to keep something away. The big fucker? I couldn't express the level of anguish when I ruled him out.

There were no footprints. Someone had killed all these people, but where was the culprits footprints?

I plucked up the battery on the table and went ahead to change out the old one. I wiped blood off it before I put it in, then checked the camera once more for a bit of comfort rather to certify its continual function.

Down the hall was a heavy metal door that looked important. My suspicions were confirmed, the bold word SECURITY was labeled on the front. The small red light on the magnet panel already informed me the door was locked, but I checked the handle anyway. There must've been a system shut down when everything went to hell, through the glass at the side I could see another staff member slumped in a pool of blood. Security operative, looked like he managed to get locked in but even the isolation didn't' save him. This perhaps frightened me most of all about this place. There was absolutely no safe haven to hole yourself up in.

Another boarded up door. A room I would never enter, but I didn't think I was missing much. I continued on, taking smaller steps recalling the person I had seen smashing the door. Which one was it? The last one on my right.

I entered the doorway to my immediate left. Inside was more of the usual office structure, a coffee table set off center of the room with chairs placed around it, overhead a bright light illuminated the cozy setting. They might've brought some of the less volatile patients here for meetings and group therapy. At the far end of the room was a desk, it's surface littered with bloody pages. Behind it was another victim, his blood still seeping down the front of folders stacked neatly behind his crushed skull.

Had he been alive shortly before? I brought up my camera and filmed as I knelt down and put my hand around his wrist. Obviously he was very dead, but I could feel the stillness of death clinging to his skin, the warmth as it evaporated.

The Variants. Was that what the cop had referred to, the former patients of the Asylum? How could they be responsible for all of this? How could they manage so much death and trauma?

There was the big fucker. His face had probably been normal once, but that was stretching speculation.

A few patient files were scattered on the desk, excerpts from a Petty's file, an admission for Samuel. I pulled out another Confidential file and opened it on the desk, clicking picks of each page.

_From: Helen Granat_

_To: group8416_

_Subject: Project Walrider On Site Inspection_

_Dear Sirs,_

_The full report pending, no immediate action is required on the part of The Murkoff Corp. The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high._

_The four fatalities contain enough ambiguous data to make any litigation, if evidence is correctly managed, impossible. PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative, and there will almost certainly be further casualties. As with the others, however, family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models, but a combination of physical and chemical restraints has proven sufficiently effective to assure continued control and profit._

_Respectfully,_

_Helen Granat_

_Murkoff Legal Mitigation Dept._

I read through the document twice, nothing of its black and white made sense. The Morphogenic Engine I read in another report, that name stood out. Therapy. Mind control was a possibility, something they were testing on the admitted crazies. Four people had died for data retrieval, and no one cared. Admittedly, it didn't make a single difference to me that these people had died it what appeared to be early experiments, but it was wrong either way. Behold the results of their studies.

I shut the folder and crossed the room to the open doorway, barely recalling the dead man as I stumbled back from the frame like it was on fire.

The probable murderer had forced his way into the room before me. As I turned to find the other exit, I picked up on muffled sobs leaking from the other side.

"We didn't choose this. Why should we have to pay for it? Why do we have to die? Walker will kill us all just for being sick. We're still people. We didn't choose this."

The room was left as it was, and I made my way back to the main area. I wasn't sure who the man was talking about, but I noted the name Walker. The patients seemed to have their own demons to deal with, an issue I wanted no contest with. In an hour I made no progress, and it seemed if I couldn't find the card key I wouldn't be able to access the Security room. There must've been something I missed, in a desk or obscure location where the card key was kept safe. If not, I didn't know what I would do if I could not force my way out a window.

I walked the perimeter of the lobby checking in the dark edges and possible doorways I had thought locked on my original pass. The elevator was always an option, maybe I could reach the second floor and find an alternate way to the window I had initially entered through.

When I approached the panel I gave it a firm push, but nothing happened. Power was cut from it during an emergency? Most likely. Or it was jammed. I smashed the dial with my fist, hurting my side in the process. As I leaned over to relieve the ache a wail echoed out, and a man fell past my line of sight. I could hear him for some length before a meaty thwack ended his cry.

Stunned by this excerpt in my life I retreated to a cluster of shadows and wandered a bit aimlessly, trying not to visualize the shock on the man's face. I tried to fool myself and assure he had been another corpse and that I imagined the scream, but I didn't want to pretend. Maybe I was taking this too hard, most everyone in this place was either dead or insane. What was one more?

I leaned against the wall and looked up, catching the hairline crack of a doorway I must've passed over ten times. How did I miss this?

I pressed it open fully and stepped inside, there was little light but for what was shared by the glow of rows upon rows of monitors. Another office for the grunts of the facility to work. I didn't bother with the camcorder as I navigated my way around the upturned chairs, I had to dislodge my feet when they became stuck on the stained floor. Much of the same as every other office in this place. It felt as though my mind was going numb, there was too much to take in for a lone sane man.

At the end of the room was the inviting glow of an open doorway and bright lights within. It was for file storage, shelves and shelves loaded with boxes of files old and new, just like from the good ol'days. To my left was a small alcove for another office, maybe the records keeper. On my right the light had burned out, but there was little else of interest. As I felt my way along the shelves back to the light, I knocked out a folder that had been teetering on some open boxes. Immediately I felt silly, I had started to pick up the pages off the floor. To what purpose? Good civil instinct I suppose.

The name Walrider caught my eye, the Project name that Murkoff had been working on. I shuffled the folder and the files into the light and put the pages back in order.

_MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS_

_PROJECT WALRIDER_

_Mount Massive CO_

_Case Number: 136_

_Patient Initials: CLW, "Walker"_

_Consultations Dated: 2013.05.28_

_Initial Date of Patient Consult: 2011.01.28_

_Patient Age: 32_

_Gender: Male_

_Observing Physician: Dr. Rudolf Wernicke_

_(notation by Dr. Walsh)_

_THERAPY STATUS:_

_Morphogenic Engine activity plateaued at roughly 2000 ppm. Unsafe to progress beyond stage 3 hormone schedule._

_DIAGNOSTICS:_

_Spirometry revealed light-to-medium bronchial accumulation. MRI scans consistent with patient's reported dreams._

_INTERVIEW NOTES:_

_Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enormous size._

_Extensive dermal eruptions as consistent with failed Morphogenic Engine cellular activity. He claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing, seems to have some boyhood experience with Tuatara Lizards and their parietal eyes. He has expresses anxiety about his flesh, specifically around his lips and nose. Attending orderlies should be advised to watch for further self-mutilation._

_The mental traumas he sustained while serving in Afghanistan seem to be retarding progressions of the M.E. Process. His predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. A continuation of both chemical and physical restraints is highly recommended._

It was all here. Restraints, mutilation to the face, they even made note of his huge girth. This was a Chris Walker's file, most if not all the experimentation he had been subjected to for this Project Walrider. A soldier from the war gone loco and sent to Mount Massive, then mutilated beyond recognition. What a way to support our troops.

The story was very tragic, but the man threw me out a window, I didn't have a great well of sympathy for him.

I stacked the files and dropped them into an open box. When I got out of here I would do more research, the people loved a story in which tragedy befell a war hero wronged by the government he fought to defend. Unless…the reason he was locked up here was because he went coo coo on tour and killed a bunch of innocent people, then his details would be discreetly mentioned, if at all.

The door had been ripped off the frame, I peered around the side and saw the metal grate that had thwarted my eyes in the lobby. I turned around, and ducked down when my eyes focused on a man some distance down the corridor, seated in a wheelchair. At first I thought he was another nameless corpse, but he was moving, or maybe it was a trick of the light. I inhaled and exhaled, I had a feeling this was not a corpse.

I crept away from the safety of the door and hugged close to the wall, eyes fixed on the man. He was moving, irregular jerks and twitches that made my heart beat faster. And the smell. He reeked ten times worse than an outdated tramp crumpled in one of New York's nameless allies. As I drew near my eyes picked out the specific details of his physique. He was grotesquely emaciated, it looked like much of his muscle mass had already rotted away, the kinks in his spine in full view and his hips nearly puncturing the thin skin just above the filthy pants he wore.

I knelt on the other side of him, pulling up my camera to film. I missed the record button the first few times as I gawked like a fool. You can never comprehend a severe case of starvation until you have actually witnessed it. This man's malnutrition caused his eyelids to sink into his skull, like a living mummy. And his teeth, what remained of them, stuck out at jagged angles between chapped and bloody lips. The sounds he made didn't resonate the way a human voice should, they were distressed and ill, the whimpers of something barely clinging to life.

No one was here to take care of him. Or Murkoff let him reach this point on purpose.

Several minutes passed before I came back, raised my camera and stumbled backwards until I collided with bookcases stuffed into the hall. I didn't notice the open door beside my shoulder right away, my focus held on the doomed man in the wheelchair. Movement from the nearest one snapped my attention to them, three figures fully engrossed in a world I had no desire to enter. I pressed myself against the opposite wall across from them waiting for a response, I'm not sure what I expected, but they never looked up. Or, they never gave me the time of day. Their vacant expressions remained fixated on the television mounted to the wall.

A spray of black blood was dried to the surface, snow was the main program. I turned my camera onto them, no response. Cautiously I entered the room, pausing with each whine of the floor as it groaned about my weight. They never twitched, their attention fully engrossed in that damn television. I paused in the doorframe watching them, assured they wouldn't find interest in my 'sudden' appearance.

"_A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody's home_."

That last line should have put my nerves to ease, but it felt empty. I put my pen and notepad away and crossed the room, ducking beneath the straight gaze of the first patient. He didn't even blink.

The other two seemed more withdrawn than fixed on the screen, I gave a wide space to the next nearest as his eyes kept track of the wall behind me. His face was mangled beyond recognition, I couldn't tell if they were burns or some sort of surgical infliction. I couldn't see the furthest man perched on a couch near a fallen bookcase, I didn't bother to either.

Aside from the patients, the room had little too offer. I tiptoed around once I was comfortable, testing their senses. I was convinced that they were vegetables, and made sure to search the room thoroughly before I turned myself towards the only open door at the back. It looked like more barricade fail, but this time the patients had torn the door free and gotten inside. I ducked down into another hall, and felt around. There was only a locked door blocked by more shelving, but the door ahead of me had been left ajar.

Some sort of meeting room, I deduced. There was no point in wondering, but it helped pry my mind from the atmosphere of this place. A large table blocked my path, circular and dull, covered with papers and folders, and a shattered laptop. I flipped through some, recorded a few names. One I caught on chance was the mention of a Martin, with Father capitalized and quoted. Sounded exactly like my guy.

There were no mentions of Murkoff's 'special' project among these folders, or the Morphogenic Engine that frequented others. I turned my attention to the desk with its pitiful light source and noted the corpse, a man that had suffered a twisted neck. He was the same as all the broken personal around here, but clipped to his pocket was a magnet key card labeled in large words SECURITY.

This seemed too convenient, but it made some sense. No one could get out because they didn't have access to the control room, because the one with the card was dead in a room.

I dithered for a moment studying the dead man, before I reached out and quickly snatching the card pinned to his uniform. I went around the other side of the table nearly tripping on a box of files, I gave them a sharp kick regretting it instantly as pain bit my side. I was getting out of here, I was going to escape this. I had everything I needed, more than what would be essential in court. I was going to nail Murkoff with this so hard.

It would be just my luck that the men in the next room would finally notice me and rally a mob to…kill me. They had no weapons I don't think, they'd settle to beat my face in with their fists. Anything that could go wrong would, I needed to live by this rule now.

But it wasn't to be, my fears were unfounded and the men remained where they had been the whole time that I was absent. Except, I think the patient sitting in the back was on the left side of the sofa when I had come through. I didn't bother to check the camera, I just wanted out of here. I shut the door gently behind me and let the knob turn out of my hand. At least I'd be able to hear if they finally got their wits about them.

There was still the patient in the wheelchair. I doubted he'd be able to get up, he was the literal sense of skin and bones and it was painful to look at, but I didn't take any chances. I secured my camera in its pack and put my back to the wall inching by–

"—OUT! PLEASE! The doctor is dead!"

My head hit the floor when he lunged from the chair, he began crawling up my legs shrieking, as I lay there stunned. His reek was so sour my vision blurred, what was he going on about? I tried to drag myself back but he pushed on my sore leg and reared up, reaching for my head. I took his arm and tried to get a leg up, his other arm fumbled blindly for my face.

"Rip them clean! You have to help me!"

I shoved my wrist under his palm removing his bony fingers from my eyes and managed to catch his forearm before he smacked me. I had to brace my back to the floor and shoved with all my might. He flew up smashing against the wall and crashed down to his side, he wasted no time scrambling away from me.

Meanwhile, I crab crawled backwards from him, while he whimpered and hid against the edge of the wall. My heart was thudding hard and spots dotted my vision, damn it, damn my instincts.

"Don't hurt me…."

Fuck this place. I needed to get out of here.


	3. Chapter 3

Haunted Basement

The patient was still mewling even when I entered the small room, I slammed the door behind me and took the time to slide one of the small rolling chairs over in front of the door, despite it opening from the other side. It was stupid but I wasn't really thinking about it at the time. Despite the skeletal physique of the patient I felt that somehow he would manage to get up and chase me down, if I didn't deter his efforts in some miniscule way. Once I had the door 'secured' I stood and watched the handle, expecting it to turn slowly like in some horror movie or something.

Eventually I pulled myself away and jogged all the way from the grunts mill back to the other side of the lobby. It seemed almost too good to be true, and I had a bit of a scare when I reached the security door and couldn't find the magnet key in my pocket. The shock was short lived, I simply had to turn my coat pocket out more to pull it out of a wrinkle it had wedged into. Never did a computerized confirmation sound so beautiful.

I shut the door after me and glanced over the room. "They Lie" was scrawled on the wall in dried blood beside a window, right above a large pool of blood. Footprints led away from the message towards the door.

It seemed my chance finding the magnet card wasn't so chance after all. The 'Priest' had been in here recently, and he did leave the key card for me to find, presumably while I was out cold for that short time. This system seemed too elaborate to concoct by one man, but it was apparent from the file I found he was a patient of Mount Massive Asylum. Not a comforting thought given my situation.

No matter, I would soon put this place far behind me, and deep in the back of my mind. I shook my head and turned to the main computer. Overhead screens displayed various rooms, some I recognized, others I hoped to never stumble upon. No one knew I was here, no one significant anyway. I pulled the chair over and slid the keyboard under my hands, the screen had the basic menu for systems access. I might be able to stumble my way through this, as long as their network didn't lock me out after a few password attempts.

Security

The white page and loading screen appeared and I watched intently as the little gray bar filled with white, inch by inch. I looked over my shoulder making sure no one was in the room with me, I hadn't searched it thoroughly in my haste, but everything appeared normal. Or should I say safe and none threatening?

Aside from my friend slumped against the wall. Sigh, I turned back to the screen and blinked. The feed on my right was transmitting from somewhere dark and I could barely make out the familiar black shape with bald head strolling along towards…was that a lever? My blood ran cold and I stood up from my seat when the 'Priest' turned and looked directly at the camera.

The lights went out.

I stumbled in the sudden dark, for some reason moving before I had any idea what was going on. That switch he pulled, it was a breaker somewhere.

Thank the creators of backup generators, the emergency lights flashed on bright and blazing, I covered my face as my eyes readjusted to the bombardment of light. Had to find the generators, need to turn the power back on. The plaque near this corridor read Electric Room and indicated steps down, along with an overturned wheelchair and a crimson trail.

As my mind wandered to undertaking this new task, a muffled voice came through the door. "We have to contain it."

I needed a way out, I needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. I tried the door, but losing the main power activated a locking mechanism. Damn! Did he know I was here? There was no place visible that could conceal me, only two lockers. Was that all? I turned and saw a large shadow streak across the wall, my options were drying up.

The locker gave a loud creak as its hinges ground together, I pulled down a coat that had been hung up and tossed it aside before replacing the vacant space with myself. Right when I had shut the door, the big fucker stalked past the window. I held my breath and hoped, I prayed he would keep going. This door was always locked before, it's still locked now. He'd lose interest and keep going, somewhere out there was some poor idiot that hadn't been tossed out a window yet.

I wanted to slip down as he threw his body against the steel door. Maybe it would hold, it was built to withstand a riot. But I think at this point I was just kidding myself, nothing was going the way I had anticipated it would. This place needed to go to hell.

After three slams of his massive body, the door crashed inward and Chris stood on the bent metal. He gave the room a casual look over, everything looked just as it was the former evening.

I tried to control my breathing, everything seemed amplified in the acoustics of the hollow locker. Out of reflex I pulled up my camera, catching an image of the big fucker as he turned to the computer terminals. With him out of sight I felt infinitely better, but he was still there searching for me. He made audible snuffling sounds, muttering to himself,

"You were here, weren't you? Little pig. I'll find all you whores."

I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes until they snapped open, the sound of a creaky locker bulldozing my thoughts. I could barely make out his shoulder, and a blood stained hand as he stood poised, but in the same instant relaxed when he found no one huddled in the cramped space. He shut it gently and pivoted, marching to the doorway where he stopped. He glanced back but looked away.

My lungs craved air, but every shallow breath I took ached. Did he plan to turn around and check the other locker?

The latch clicked as I lifted it and pushed the door open, I stiffly swung around it as I shut the door and pulled the next locker open. No sooner had it settled, Chris stormed back to the lockers and snapped the door open. I was trying to push away, put myself as far from him as I could despite the tiny space.

He shut the door and turned away, this time exiting the room. "Parameters will hold up…."

Ten minutes later and I was still hiding. I heard no sound and saw no sign of Chris' return, but remained leery. If I couldn't see him, he could be anywhere.

Anywhere but here?

I struggled with the latch, almost panicking with the thought I had accidentally locked myself in. My fingers were a little numb, my whole mind felt numb. I took a few steps toward the computer terminal and collapsed in the chair. What had I been doing up to this point?

"_The big fucker is stalking me. Found a patient file for a CHRIS WALKER, ex-military police, several tours in Afghanistan. A lot of the blood in this place is on his hands. But not all of it_."

My writing was sloppy, but that was the best I could do for now. My camera was still on record so I shut it off for a bit and saved its charge. I set it on the terminal and propped my head up on my hand. The Generators would be down the steps in the Electric Room but restoring the power would be another matter. Did they need gasoline? What sort of grid did they run on? I was unsure if Murkoff staff had them locked up to prevent people like the 'Priest' guy from getting ahold of them. Obviously they must be accessible, unless he was the only one with access to them.

I sighed through my fingers. What was I doing with my life?

Pages had been left on the terminal, a small note to Shawn about the camera operations. Beneath it was a notice for restarting the generators, the Asylum had it's own power off the grid after Murkoff took over. Well, of course they would!

But it had directions for restarting the generators, reactivate the pumps and throw the breaker. Seems pretty basic. I tossed down the page and ran out the room, but returned shortly to snatch the camera. My thoughts were a bit off kilter, I was hearing shrieking on the other side of the gate, from where I thought Chris had stalked off to. I was going the opposite way, later I would worry where he had gone.

A pipe had broken from the wall, water gushed from it just missing the stairs I took to the basement. Chances are it was a delivery pipe, but it was no more cleaner than sewage. The air was humid yet chilly, small drafts moved through the open doorway waiting in the subterranean level. I sucked in a sharp breath as the water engulfed my shoes, I stepped back and pondered. There was no way to get around this, I liked my shoes but I'd have to buy a new pair after this regardless. A new style, I didn't want to remind myself how many bodies I trudged over.

The actuality was, I was scared. No lie. There was no telling who was down here, if there was something worse than that big fucker. But if I wanted a chance to get out of here, I had to get through this.

My feet sloshed through the water, shoes turned soggy and heavy. I pulled up my camera and flicked on the night vision. Even with the enhanced lens I couldn't see what was under the water, I just had to tread carefully. There was quite a bit of ruble on the surface, some of the ceiling had weathered and fallen. Large items lined the walls, some barrels a pallet. They might have used the lower floor for storage as well, it was spacious from what I could see.

I was met with a despairing sight, the gate that lead into the basement rooms was locked with a thick chain. No way could I smash it. Just to mock me, the wall beyond the gate had a plaque labeling the primary rooms. The middle name was Electric rooms. There had to be another way into there.

As I turned to backtrack, a flash of light blinded me from the next room. The wall had rotted and crumbled to some degree, and with some extra effort I was able to remove enough brick that I could squeeze through.

The water was deeper on this side, and a bit more ruble was hidden beneath the surface. I caught my footing before I could fall and drop the camera. That's the last thing I needed.

A cool draft met me in this grimy place, but the scent it carried was far from fresh. I clutched my coat tighter around me and stepped carefully, there were boards bobbing just under the surface, sodden but uncertain about their watery demise. A few laundry baskets had been abandoned and another shelf melted in the flood. I turned a corner and continued, at least in this section I didn't need my camera, this corridor was well lit.

Wooden crates were stacked along the walls making a slow precession into the water as their predecessors decayed, and gave under the weight. I wondered what was kept in the barrels along the walls, gasoline maybe. They had vehicles and other machinery that needed fuel, a tanker probably came out to deliver the barrels. The noxious stench of bad oil was constant, cheap grade bought in bulk for old machines. Engines. The generators couldn't be far.

Someone had stacked boxes in the middle of the corridor, I tested their stability before hopping over. The emergency lights didn't reach this area, or had burned out. I moved my feet carefully under the water tensing when I felt something soft and undeniably slimy. It could be a cardboard box filled with liquefied files, that's all it was. But the smell intensified, a soggy vapor of rot and soured water.

Before me was what appeared to be a high archway, but the opening was boarded up tight. I put my hand up testing, feeling the draft creeping between the cracks. Maybe there was a small window down here, something I could squeeze through if I could find it.

"W-who's there?"

The voice sounded meek, worried. I shuffled away as banging ensued.

"Who's? WHO'S THERE?" I held still as the noises softened and the speaker began mumbling. "I'll hurt you. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid of anything. Not anymore."

I waited listening to the sounds of the water, only the drips and tranquil sloshing penetrated the black. Slowly my feet moved, reducing as much noise as I could through the froth. The night vision revealed nothing but a large corridor, at the end a dull haze of light. It was on the other side of a waist high platform, evidence on my side revealed there had been steps some short time ago but the timber ruptured and was torn away. The waterlogged planks I had seen along the way might've been the remains.

From what I could make out there was no one in this room. The walls were thick brick and solid looking, a few pallets and boxes had been left to rot. The furthest wall had two doors, the one on my direct left had one, all shut and to my limited knowledge locked tight.

Another body hung from the ceiling, headless and bloated. Another reminder of what would become of me if I didn't hustle and get the fuck out of here.

I pulled myself onto the platform and stepped softly down the steps. I wondered if this place was first built as an Asylum, or had it been constructed by some eccentric billionaire that appreciated his privacy. The building was ancient, but the ideal of looking into its private history had not come to mind while I was struggling to locate information on Murkoff's activities. A map would have been very useful right now.

The control board beneath the brilliance of light labeled out my next course of action. The generators couldn't work without gasoline (I knew that). The main breaker needed to be flipped before I could restart the power.

This didn't seem too complicated, where?- I turned around recalling the sealed rooms, one of them must hold the breaker.

My shoes bubbled as they filled with water once again, I didn't want to think about what might've been floating beneath the surface. I focused ahead trusting my NV, even with it I was still bumping into boxes and things my eyes had missed as I set my narrow sight for one of the two doors. When I put my weight on the first step it gave, dissolving into the water. I came down hard on my knee but brushed off the sharp pain, at this point it was nothing but a mild nuisance.

The door knob stuck but with a hard twist the handle creaked and I crept inside. The soft glow of the emergency light illuminated the generator, poised on a metal pole was the button. All was going well, I punched the dial and turned around as the machine whirled to life.

On a metal barrel beside the door something glittered, I walked over and discovered it to be another battery. Odd place to find one, but maybe someone had been down here last with a penlight. I pocketed it before I stepped out the door and stopped, my blood running cold. The sound of crashing and banging came from not far away, not far enough away from me. Timber splintered and gave as someone broke through what could only be a door. Or a barricade.

I checked through my camera scanning - where had it come from? The acoustics of this room made locating sounds tricky, there were four doors in this room? No, three, I came from a step–

A pair of eyes flashed, I stepped back as I moved my camera searching for the face. There, a man looking right at me from the doorway he had forced open. I retreated back into the room shutting the door before examining the confined area. Had he seen me? He was insane no doubt, could he trust his eyes after what had happened here? It might not have mattered to him.

The room was solid, except for a bed a few feet from the generator. I slid under it as the thuds came from the doorway, the wood snapping and the jam cracking before the door clattered against the cement. My instinct warned me to crawl further under the bed, I was just beneath the edge, but if I made a sound he would find me. The dull drone of the pump could nullify the tiniest gasp, but somehow he would pick up the rough fiber of my coat against the moist cement. I held my breath as he walked by, his gaze roaming the walls and shadows. In his hand he carried some sort of weapon, what looked like the leg of a table with screws still sticking out of it.

It was splattered with black.

I swallowed and let out a shallow breath. Please leave. Please don't check under the bed.

He slapped the clean side of the club against his palm a few times, turning to check the room once more before he spun around. "The gospel. Tells us to follow."

Once he cleared the doorframe I took in a long, deep breath. God, my ribs. I didn't need to get anymore beat up than I already was.

For good measure I waited, he had vacated the room but was he debating on returning? I had no idea if he had seen me or what he might've thought, if he thought he saw me. There was time, take it slow. But if I waited, would he eventually return and notice the bed? I shifted under it a little more, almost immediately the man materialized in the open doorway.

I bit my lip. He didn't hear me! He couldn't have! He was here on a hunch and once he had satisfied his suspicions he would leave. I tucked my face against my shoulder and watched him with my eyes. He gave the room another glance over as he passed, and checked behind the generator when near it.

Against my better judgment, I slipped out on the other side of the bed beside the wall. I kept low and crawled towards the gaping doorway as I heard his feet grit against the moist silt of the floor. My breath hitched as I looked over my shoulder, he had just dropped down to check under the bed. I didn't wait for him to rise, I carefully stepped on the door and slipped out of the room.

The steps groaned under my weight, the sound amplified in my mind. Cursed all, I forgot the last step was ruined and stumbled in the water as I fought to keep my footing, and reduce the noise I was making.

"What's that?"

I couldn't see at all without my camera, but hadn't the presence of mind to raise it for my eyes. Instead, I felt around in the dark for the rail and made a painfully slow shuffle around to the backside of the steps. They groaned as my pursuer stepped down into the water.

He made a more graceful recovery than I had when he missed the last step, or he recalled that it was ruined. Or, a more frightening thought, he was more accustomed to the inky veil that occupied many of the rooms.

It was fortunate I had my hand wedged in the cameras strap, I had let go of it as I pressed my fingers against the wet wood. With it on my mind I raised the visor and watched the figure scan his immediate area. After a tense second he continued forward, his legs churning dull froth with each step. I backed away slowly, always keeping him in my sight. I bumped against a crate before I turned around, checking for what other obstacles might be in my path.

The second door, same as the first. I hopped onto a crate moldering against the steps and made light footfalls towards the handle. It gave with an easy twist and I entered, shutting my thin paper of protection.

This room had more to offer. Lockers lined the wall, shelves had been assembled in the corners littered with few items, some bottles of oil and boxes, tattered sheets. In the furthest corner was the pump.

When I activated it, the noise would alert the prowler. There would be no doubt in his mind, with the door shut, that someone was still in here. Or, this was the trail of thought I entertained. I had to keep reminding myself he was a patient in an asylum, there was no telling what his rationale skills entitled.

I punched the button and turned to the lockers along the wall. Maybe I could lock it from the inside….

The latch was different from the ones on the top floor, I fumbled with it trying to discern if it was corroded with rust or if I was doing this wrong, but the sounds at the door thumped with each beat of my heart. Wait! Wait! I needed to hide now!

I sprint over behind the pump and ducked down. A final crash announced my visitor as the door caved in. He kicked away bits of the timber as he stepped through, they clattered across the floor loud enough to be heard over the pump.

"—revealed himself to the shattered minds." He muttered, somewhere amid a quote. I curled up into a tighter ball and pressed up against the pump, if he glanced over it I might fall just under his peripheral sight.

A locker opened then slammed shut. He patrolled the area, his club thudding along the metal doors before he stopped. For a moment there was near total silence.

I trembled though I couldn't decide if it was from the cold or if I was terrified. Must have been both, my coat was good but my pants were soaked. I flinched when he began beating the lockers and screaming. When would this nightmare end?

With a final hoot he raced out, his shoes thudding over the broken planks and fading down the steps outside.

Several minutes passed, but of the man there was no sound. The generator caused too much of a ruckus, it was impossible to pick up echoes or voice in the next room. Was he still out there? From here I had no way of knowing.

I uncoiled myself and peered over the pump. It might've helped if I had my camera up, but the emergency light impeded the NVs range. There were no sounds that worried me, but that could mean he was standing just outside the door waiting. I moved around the large machine and crouched, shuffling towards the broken door. At this range I could see through my visor, but halfway there I couldn't see much beyond the portal but dark shapes huddled.

The right side was the stair side, I huddled on the left straining to see.

"Can't see me. Won't get me."

I slinked back, but realized I was still safe. He was trudging by the stairs muttering to himself, I don't think he could see me. Or maybe I underestimated his instincts, he climbed onto the crates and began up towards me.

In a wild dash I reached the pump and ducked down behind it. I hadn't seen if he cleared the door before I hid, did he even see me in the first place? I had no way of knowing, but I was out of sight and therefore, out of mind. He was just checking the room. He must've visited the other side first, and then came back to see if I was here. But this was all speculation, I had no idea what was—

A locker swung open, pause. He slammed it shut and jerked another one open. He knew I was here, he was looking for me. I listened carefully as his steps moved across the room, then pivoted. Where was he now? I slid to the edge of the machine and leaned over.

He was at the opposite corner just standing there, but I could still hear him walking. When my eyes adjusted to the odd contrast of light and shadow, I saw a sheet hanging on the shelf.

"There you are!"

I twisted around where I was huddled, he grabbed my shoulder and raised the club above his head. My leg kicked out blindly smashed into the brick wall, I tore out of his grip and slid out under a metal pipe attached to the pump. A sharp crack filled the air when he brought his weapon down, it took a moment to register my opportunity before I was clawing to my feet running for the door. "Wait! Come back!"

Even with my night vision up, I still ran into the rail that surrounded the steps. I heaved over it splashing into the water below, footsteps were right at my neck and I felt something slice through the air near my head. I bent forward and ran, though I heard him storming down the steps a few feet behind me. The camera was jiggling too much, I had a god awful time trying to hold it steady while I tore through the room. All the time the guy was still after me, screaming. I was unsure where exactly I was headed.

Ahead of me I saw steps and light, I vaulted up them stumbling over the fallen door. I hadn't stepped over a door to get into this place.

A wall appeared in my path, I barely put on the breaks but still managed to smash my good shoulder against it. Panicked and shaken I forgot the camera but rather, slapped my palm and fingers against the solid surface and followed it. I staggered through an open door as the footfalls of my pursuer neared, I found the edge of the door and flung it shut. The doorknob rattled as he worked to get it open, I think my appreciation for broken door handles grew somewhat in that instant.

I stumbled over a pipe and fell hard on my chest. As I lay groaning and fighting to recover from the stun, I noticed a few broken beds just ahead. The door was about to give, I crawled under the beds and lay flat as the wood crumpled and the variant charged through.

It was impossible to see without my camera, but I heard his wet footfalls as he paced around the room. A few of the items were shifted, I tried to identify what each was as he poked around. Finally his steps came towards my space, I took a sharp breath and held it as he smashed the club against a metal bar then waited. In the distance I could pick up the echoing clatter of the pumps. I needed to focus on that.

"There was no putty tat there." After a few more minutes, either he became bored or forgot what he was looking for. I heard his weight rock the broken door as he thudded over it.

I didn't want to move. No telling where he was now, or where I was. But I reasoned with myself, if I stay here he would eventually find me. I was blocked in but this area had served its purpose for the time. I wasn't ready to move on, but I forced my hands to pull at the cold floor and drag my body out.

I wasn't shaking I was quaking unrestrained. That had been too close. What was it I needed to do? Flip the breaker. I bumped my face with the camera as I tried to lift the visor and view exactly where I had stumbled into.

Another storage room. Spare beds and sheets for the patients, lockers, and some filthy laundry bins. I tried to stand but my legs wouldn't hold my weight, so I shuffled along to a door at the other side of the room. At this point I felt my masculinity melting. Get it together Miles.

With some help from the shelf and the doorknob I was able to haul myself up. I stood a moment taking deep breathes and renewing my resolve. I was okay as long as I could outrun him. Flip the breaker, restart the power, get the fuck out. This would be easy.

The door was locked.

I could've held up the camera and seen exactly where I was going, but I wanted to feel the walls, the frigid damp brick and the shelves as I staggered around them. I was not too solid on my feet just yet but once I stepped out into the corridor, I had my camera out like a bad habit.

No sign of the man. No sound of him either. I took it slow, glancing out through the light in the doorway before returning my eyes to the path ahead. On the wall was a plaque with an arrow.

Generator

I followed the corridor, hopping over more debris that had been shoveled into the hall. When I reached the end I picked up the soft footfalls, the moment before he turned the corner. There was a doorway to my right I slipped into, but wish I hadn't.

Bodies tethered to the ceiling like butchered cattle, organs spilling off the shelf, the translucent skin glimmered in the NV of the camera. I didn't have time for revulsion, he was right behind me. I slid under the bed and pressed my face into my shoulder, the smell, I will NEVER get used to that smell.

He strolled in from the doorway and glanced over the room, I had my camera held beside my face at an awkward angle to prevent the gleam of the visor from reflecting too much. Despite the discomfort I wouldn't repositioning it to document his habits. Leave the room, just please leave the room.

Then he did something very madman like. He folded to his knees and smashed at the floor with his club, the strikes hard enough to shatter his weapon, I'm amazed it didn't. Then, he leaned over and pressed his…ear down. He was facing me at that point, but I was too flabbergasted to register the potential threat. It was probably best I didn't, otherwise I might've squirmed and drawn his attention.

After that he rose to his feet and walked out muttering about shadows.

Once it seemed he left for good I wasted no time in crawling out from under the bed, the stew of rotten organs among the metal legs was too much for my tattered sanity. I sat in the dark absorbed in what little light was put off by the visor. Which way had he gone?

My question was soon answered when he passed from the right, the way I was headed initially. I didn't move though I was in plain view, he was out of sight by the time the thought registered. The dark had concealed me fully.

I was taking my camera for granted, if I wasn't looking through the visor everything was a black slate with no texture, no form. Empty. It could drive a man insane, or more so, give him some company.

When his footfalls faded, I shuffled to the door and looked around the edge. He had found the door that was locked and made himself busy trying to tear it down. I was fine with this, it wouldn't keep him occupied for long. I shut the door as I left the room.

Was I becoming desensitized by what I saw? If I held my breath. it was easy to forget in this hall what I had previously been subjected to. But, if I dwelled on it for too long I could feel my heart flutter. I need not think on that, keep focused on my objective - to get out of here I needed to flip the breaker and open the main doors. That was the only way out. Try not to think of what lay in the rooms, or what else could be waiting for me. I would escape, I would be fine. My thoughts felt natural, but this worried me as well. A crazy man thought he was normal because the only thoughts he knew, were those of his own, he had forgotten the way a sane man thought.

When I escaped, would I go mad too?

Of course I wouldn't, what was I thinking? Keep it together Miles, this place was getting to me and I would acknowledge that before it began to eat away at me. I wasn't going mad, my brain was just filtering so I wouldn't go mad. Once I was out, I would call up my therapist and get this water under the bridge settled.

Having a therapist was kind of awkward, people got the wrong impression. I was advised long ago when I received my license, that I would come to appreciate a good therapist. No lie, I have seen some of the worst that the world could offer, and even if I didn't think it phased me it was still a good idea to have someone that I could talk to. Help me cope.

The corridor came to a T, I decided to check my right first, only because I could see the shimmer of water the other way. It felt like the hall was never ending, aside from a mishap of ruined desks that broke up the repetition. At the end was a crushed pallet, along with the door I sought.

The knob gave with one twist, it cracked and fell apart in my hands. I frowned down at it, before I tossed the pieces aside and inspected the door. I could still push it shut but it wouldn't slow anyone down. I turned my camera to the rooms interior and scanned over the shelves dotted with chemicals and some tool, a trolley, more lockers (why did a facility need so many lockers?) Fuse boxes hugged the furthest walls, the soft glimmer of the backup light blotted out the NVs range. This had to be it.

Directly ahead was a familiar looking handle. The breaker the 'Priest' had pulled that cut the power in the first place.

I crossed over to it and forced the lever up. Just had to reactivate the power and find my way back to the ground floor.

As I was heading down the hall I was somewhat distracted, but I quickly caught the soft steps and retreated backwards in a noisy shuffle.

"Hey! What the hell is that?"

He saw me! He saw me! I pivoted and ran back to the room, I didn't even bother to shut the door behind me I needed to hide.

But damn these lockers, what was I doing wrong? There was no lock on it, it couldn't be jammed.

The latch popped and I climbed inside, the last worry on my mind was whether I could get this model open from the inside. He didn't seem to have a problem getting them open.

I slowed my breath when he entered, the door creaked as he shoved it against the wall and the muffled snaps of the wood chair leg striking his palm came closer and closer. I shifted, it felt like the locker jarred on its foundation. Oh god, just hold still and be quiet. He won't find me. I'm not here.

"Who is that?"

He didn't see me. He did not see me. I fixed my grip on the camera and leaned back from the cutout vents. The door beside me opened, then slammed shut. I put my hand on the latch and held it. There were three lockers, weren't there? Or two? I let out a soft sigh as the tension climaxed, where was he?

"Up to heaven, went away!" He wandered out of sight tapping the shelves, and once he had satisfied his fancy he departed.

I waited in the silence just breathing as everything settled, my heart, my haggard breathes. I was in a dead end, I couldn't afford to get pinned her again. I worked up my nerve and opened the locker, grateful that it hadn't stuck. Before I went on I made sure I understood how the latch on these worked, then moved to the open doorway and looked out. The corridor was silent but this didn't set me to ease, he was still here.

At the intersection I paused to zoom the camera and check the far hall, what might be there. I could make out boards and an archway, but I couldn't decide if this was the other side of the archway passed before entering this area.

I was nearly out anyway, what did it matter?

All the more reason to use caution, from this point on. I stepped lightly along the hall watching my cameras feed, so far no sound. I expected at any moment he would charge out at me, or I'd feel his hand slap me on the shoulder right before my skull splint in two. Shuddering, I swallowed and tried not the think about the foul odor burned into my mind.

Just needed to reactivate the power. The power, so I could open the front doors and get the fuck out of here. My resentment for this place was natural, I didn't fight it, nor the repetitive state my mind had elapsed into. It was easy to keep repeating my current goal through my thoughts, keep focused on that rather what I had seen. It felt clean. I wanted to feel clean.

I passed the shut door, not bothering to pause, not giving it another thought. Breaker, security, then out. As I neared the light from the entrance I heard his voice. At least I knew where he was.

Thankfully he had torn the second door down, I stepped inside and moved along the shelves, making sure I didn't knock over anything this time. The battery in the NV was getting low and the visual was dimming. After I removed the battery I thought about tossing it down the hall, distract the variant that way. In the end I decided this was a bad idea, best not draw attention to any area I was near or in. If he wasn't certain of my whereabouts, it might clue him in with sudden noises. I also did not need to stir him up, he was insane and that was apparently enough to get my face smashed in.

Down to two batteries.

I moved to the other doorway and peeked out, just as he faded from the nightvisions range somewhere down the corridor. I couldn't see him, but if I ventured into the light I would be vulnerable for a splint second. He would see me. Unless he wasn't facing me.

One, two, three, and four steps into the entrance corridor. I paused for a beat to listen if he made note of me, but I heard nothing aside from the echoing steps growing distant. It was unnerving.

I continued into the cold water and crossed to the access panel. Before I hit the switch I took a deep breath and prepared myself, this was it. With a firm punch the generator kicked to life, the lamps overhead flickered and blazed white clarity. I shut my camera off and glanced around, which door had I entered from?

All I could see were broken doors, where was…?

I spun about and saw my entrance, the stairs and the arch I originally entered from. I sprang up the steps, despite the protest of my ribs and ran the full length of the hall with the water frothing around my legs. When I reached the small crevice I slipped through, I spied just beyond it a cracked desk a folder forgotten atop. Enough light made the last part of Confidential evident. I picked it up before squeezing through the gap.

Once I felt safe and heard no steps, no screaming man chasing me, I paused to calm my breath. That had been too close, if I hadn't of gotten out from under the bed when I did…. My close call ration was dwindling down. I could only feel closure with this event, knowing that I had gotten out of there without getting myself killed, and with my camera still in functional order.

I paused a moment to look it over while I had some light. After the fall I hadn't noticed, but a hairline crack had formed along its case. Another battle scar, it had many. The corners were rubbed clean from constantly shuffling it between the pack and my hands, and the symbols on the buttons were worn away from years of use. To operate my camera I had to work it from memory. Like me, it had been through hell before we reached this place, and it'd receive more abuse before I retired it. That wouldn't be for a long time, I promise.

* * *

><p><strong>Redbarrels reserves right. Purely done for enjoyment<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Committed to Survival

Rather fix the camera in its hoister now, I'd wait until I wasn't around the water. The path out of this place felt long and oppressive, the sharp smell of mildew at this point drilling a painful ache in my head. I shut the mesh door behind me and trudged up the stairs to the first landing, where a tolerable light source awaited.

_MKULTRA program, CIA document no. 190691, p. 1, excerpt _

_To: File _

_Subject: Hypnotic Experimentation and Research,_

_Febuary 10, 1954 _

_On Wednesday, 10 Febuary, 1954, hypnotic experimentation and research work was continued in Building 13 of the Mount Massive Preserve in Colorado using the following subjects. _

_material abridged _

_1. A posthypnotic of the night before (pointed finger, you will sleep) was enacted. Misses Jackson and Pierce immediately progressed to a deep hypnotic state with no further suggestion. Miss Pierce was then instructed (having previously expressed a fear of firearms in any fashion) that she would use every method at her disposal to awaken miss Jackson (now in a deep hypnotic sleep), and failing this, she would pick up a nearby pistol and fire it at Miss Jackson. She was instructed that her rage would be so great that she would not hesitate to "kill" Jackson for failing to awaken. _

_2. Miss Pierce carried out these suggestions to the letter including firing the (unloaded_

_pneumatic pistol) gun at Jackson and then proceeding to fall into a deep sleep. After proper suggestions were made, both were awakened and expressed complete amnesia for the entire sequence. Miss Pierce was again handed the gun, which she refused (in an awakened state) to pick up or accept from the operator. She expressed absolute denial that the foregoing sequence had happened._

In the least my little souvenir was interesting. Hypnoses to cure fears, or force a person to perform a desired function. I read files on this but the fancy didn't strike me, people liked to read those sorts of articles but I wasn't prime on reporting them.

I left the file on the landing and made the ground floor. I exhaled a breath of relief to see my surroundings unchanged, whether good or bad. At least the big fucker had left most of the building intact. I made my uneventful trek back to the Security room, I didn't like the idea of a gaping hole behind me at this point, but I wasn't about to prop that heavy metal door up with that little rolling chair.

Call me lazy, I just wanted to get the doors open and put a fuck lot of distance between here, and the remnants of my healthy psyche. I wasn't going to be normal after this, alright?

The terminal looked like it would still function, some of the monitors seemed to be spazing out from the abrupt shut down. The main root, system controls, was up and ready to go.

I managed to type in the first half of Security before someone crashed into me from behind, I didn't even hear them enter. I tried to push back and throw them off but they had braced a knee into the back of my leg, the edge of the terminal bit into my bruised thigh. I already knew who it was even before he braced his arms over my chest, pain rippled up my side as he wrenched my head up. Something metal flashed across my vision. A needle!

It was jammed into the base of my neck, my vision flashed as whatever the hypodermic was filled with drowned my senses. He released me and I collapsed against the desk, my forehead started to tingle and I immediately worried over what was in that needle. I leaned against my arms struggling to drag my failing strength back, but it was impossible. The blue chair rolled over the clean portion of the floor as he nudged it aside, and moved close beside me. I turned my head to watch his movement, his foul black robe swelled along my peripheral vision. Getting hard to focus. Felt like my legs were turning into jello.

"I'm sorry, my son, I didn't want to have to do this to you." He revealed the needle and grasped my hand. "But you can't leave, not yet." I jerked my hand away from his clammy grasp and brushed him off. I tried to turn, push him away. I want nothing to do with you. Nothing! Just let me Leave!

Without the support of the desk my legs gave out. The Priest caught me under the arms and lowered me to my knees. My shoulder pressed into the side of the metal desk as I stared up into his face. He was bald, with wild eyes that frightened me. "There is so much yet for you to witness."

Oh god.

"Will you see it? Can you?" With one arm latched to my side, he used the other hand to turn my head towards a gray video feed. My thoughts were muddled, it was a room. Camera looking down in a room, with a desk, wall with windows. Bright windows. Everything in that room was bright. A symbol. Rings on the floor. Sharp ovals. People in the room. Holding guns. Looked like MHS cops. The guy I watched die. I tried to get out….

"Our lord the Walrider, tearing His truth into the unbelievers." They were dying. My eyes drooped but I fought to keep focus, what was killing them? Dragging them off, throttling them, blood everywhere. This place was turning red, full of blood. Blood up to my knees, I was running from my shadow. What did they see? What was killing them? What did he put into me?

"The only way out of this place is the truth." My head rolled back to him. The drugs made me weak and heavy, and I couldn't care less for what he was saying. The lights dimmed and I sank to my side. His last words rang through my mind.

"Accept the gospel and all doors will open before you."

* * *

><p>The dark.<p>

There was safety in the dark. There was comfort in the dark. The dark was the unknown. The dark was all encompassing. The dark was unmovable.

Unless there was light. That terrible light.

I awoke once, enveloped in white, everything was bright and painful to bear. By my side was a dark shape, the Priest. I blinked and he was outside the door, it looked like he was speaking to a man with ants crawling on his face.

Maybe it was a dream. The road was very long, and it was already night. It didn't matter what time visiting hours ended, I planned to snoop around the grounds anyway and pick up whatever looked incriminating. But I had to film something concrete, or my contacts would just scoff.

When I arrived, the patients were wandering the front lawn in white shrouds. Something without form was tearing through them, tossing their bodies like broken toys against the walls, muscle and lungs were tangled in the barbed wire. Amidst them was Chris Walker, the other patients had bowed before him. It didn't look like he cared. His face was splint back in a cruel grin, but his eyes were milky and dead.

Once I had gotten away from the Asylum, I collapsed in the woods. Everything hurt, my body was broken. Death wasn't the punishment anymore. I didn't have to worry about paying the bills, a girlfriend, my next job - nothing mattered. The fight was over. I curled up in the wet leaves and sank into a deep sleep, the dead of winter closed in, but not even the cold could reach me. There was just the indiscriminate black that awaited at the end of it all.

A soft groan escaped me as I roused, clearing the short rest from my stiff lungs. I opened my eyes to view murky shapes, odd lines in the white walls. The damn light was too bright, I turned my head and felt the dull pain in my neck reminding me of the previous events. Everything felt muggy and pointless to my mind, but at least I was alone.

It felt like I had slept on the world's hardest substance, the material crinkled nastily as I shifted. Smelt like a retirement homes bad day, but at this point I didn't give a damn. Same scenario if you were drunk off your ass, you didn't give a damn where you passed out. I put a hand to my collar and brought it back. No blood. Probably bruised like hell, but otherwise fine. My brain was still working out the crap that guy injected me with, should probably be the least of my worries.

For a while I lay on that stiff cot, staring at the walls until they came into focus. Crosses and words scrawled everywhere. Some of it in blood. I took it this was His cell.

I didn't feel ready to resume my personal vendetta for freedom, but options were a luxury I feared I was now banned from. Time was my worst enemy, and my chances of walking out alive dwindled the longer I wavered. Either way, I didn't want to be here when He returned.

Slowly I sat up, making mental note of the injuries that had set into my body. I coughed a bit of blood onto my sleeve, but that didn't alarm me. But I would check in to the hospital first chance I had. A real hospital.

Very considerate of the Priest to leave the camera, but he had reinforced his desires into me that I was to be his Apostle. I flipped the visor open and raised it to the walls.

"_The priest, FATHER MARTIN brought me here to show me something. Thinks I'm going to be a witness for whatever batshit crazy he's trying to sell me. This DR. WERNICKE is at the center of whatever went wrong here. But he died more than ten years ago. 'Rest in Peace,' says the blood on the wall_."

Fuck the story, when I get out of here I was going to write a New York Times best seller. "How I Survived the Worst Tip in my Career." By Miles Upshur. In your face, Oprah.

The door had no visible lock or latch mechanism. How did I get out? Maybe if I pushed.

That didn't seem to work, but as I peered out of the small window a face shot into the lens of my camera startling me. A click echoed, and the figure darted off. Though the door was now wide open, I waited. I had no idea what was out there, let alone where the hell I was NOW. I hadn't seen much before he unlocked the cell. But the question I needed answered immediately, where was I in this god awful place? Far from the safest exit, of course!

Tentatively, I crept forward, but what was I going to do if someone decided to come in next? I wasn't hiding in here.

This was better than Disney land. I think every ghost hunter in the world would donate a kidney, just to spend a night in this place. It was the main ward of the asylum, its heart, where all the crazies hung out.

Below, I saw a few of the frequents. One man patrolling, smashing his skull into blood stained concrete with bone cracking force. I winced with each impact.

"Back! Get back!" To my right a man lunged at a segregation gate rattling at the bars, shrieking his lungs out. "Get the fuck away from me! Rrah! Huh…don't look at me. Don't you dare…."

I whirled away from him, relying fully on the doors capacity to withstand his violence, even if fate did not favor me this hour. I walked along the bland and gray wall, glancing down to the people on the lower floor. Had they been this messed up before Murkoff got ahold of them? They were using dream therapy to alter their higher cognitive functions of the mind, didn't look like these people had that treatment. Even if they had, I still wouldn't be able to distinguish them from your typical lunatic.

I shuddered to think if Murkoff had been trying to cure their mental deficiency in order to use them for further experimentation later on.

The smell. Like all the filthy alley ways and slums in every city in the world. I could hardly breathe without gaging, filth was everywhere. It was a miracle these people weren't dead from contamination. Or maybe it was some sort of curse. This was no sort of life for a human.

The window parallel to my face burst open and a hand shot out, grabbing for my head as I ducked. I smashed against the rail and stared up as the arm continued to grope blindly for nothing, then withdrew. The shock wore off quickly and I stood up to gaze on the face that met mine.

Skin had been cut and moved, tacked down in cruel areas. It looked like his right eyelid had been removed, the eye now a shriveled sack in the socket. Despite his earlier 'attack,' I think I felt sorry for him.

I was still glad his door was locked.

The next door was open, but I could change that.

"Said he shouldn't hurt you," a voiced hummed from within.

Inside, opposite to a blood splashed corner, stood a man pawing at his face. He too had been mutualized by some form of surgery, one eye stitched shut and his face scarred by malpractice. "Is what he said."

I glanced around, then turned back to him and raised the camera. "Father Martin?"

"Our Father," he corrected. "Told him not to hurt you. But when the cat's away….Hmmmm….Mmmmm."

Everything in me screamed, slam that door now. But I didn't. Quietly, I backed away and left him as he was. If he was a danger, he was the least of my concerns. Shutting the door might agitate him, and there were people on the floor below that seemed to not have noticed my presence yet.

I slipped around the pillar of the next corner and walked towards the metal door on this side of the level.

"Who's this?"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the speaker, cloaked by shadow. That was all they were cloaked by.

"Maybe…Farther Martin's man."

"Maybe." The first seemed excited by my presence. My hair stood on end and I knew without a doubt, I should not be near them.

The thick metal gate stood between us and presumably was locked, but I couldn't make that gamble. Even without the NV I could distinguish their lack of apparel, their shapes were tall and sinewy, and they appeared to be identical twins. Splattered with blood.

"He looks nervous."

"I would like to kill him."

I hid behind the pillar a little more.

"As would I…" His voice made the task sound tedious. I really didn't want to be here at this particular moment.

"The preacher asked us not to."

"It would be impolite."

"Not here."

They paused.

"We give him a running start?"

"There's an idea."

"And when we kill him, we kill him slow."

"Such patience."

I was done. I was gone. I was staggering down the steps searching for a way out of this mad house. "I want his tongue. And liver."

"They are yours."

Was there a way out? Not from down here, the only route I could see had the camera shy freak and my new fan club. They were giving me a running start. What the FUCK did that mean?!

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Said the man staring at a pillar. I decided from this point on, for the safety of my psyche and my body parts I did NOT need to speak with ANYONE. They could talk to me, I was not going to converse back.

Someone darted from the group into an open door, and slammed it. One less to worry over. Two men still roamed, there was a third sitting in a wheelchair. I didn't trust anyone in a wheelchair anymore.

The two rooms on either side of the stairs had nothing to offer, no tools or messages, or items of interest. I had a fear of standing in the doorways, unless someone opened the door from the outside I could be locked in. The man staring at his pillar, he had been the one to let me out in the first place. I didn't want to ask if there was a way out of this area.

The Priest had brought me here, how the hell did he get out? Unless, he was still here….

"Don't trust them." I jerked away from the man in the wheelchair, I had given him his distance though it was doubtful he could do much. His mutilation went beyond the laws of humanity, scars and broken flesh healed over.

I raised my camera and knelt down, but I refused to get too close. "They'll tell you it's science but it's not. They were…waiting for us. In this place. Billy understood. They've always been here."

I wanted to ask him about Billy. About the experiments and the Walrider, and what he meant by 'they.' But I was frightened by what he might say. If he said any more. Uttering this information had seemed to exhaust him, and his head wilted to his shoulder. Briefly, I wondered if he had fallen asleep or had he finally escaped this place.

I shivered and stood. A way out that involved my body and I escaping together, and in one piece. That seemed like a naive dream.

I didn't bother with the door behind him, or the one after that. Though, as I passed by a face appeared in the glass. I stared, and 'he' stared back. My mind was attempting to fathom how someone without a mouth could survive, unless there was a tube in his nose, but even his nostrils were compromised. It looked like there was an opening in his throat, reminiscent to smokers that suffered cancer and had their larynx removed.

This place was god awful. I had to keep reminding myself that, the more I looked around, the more I felt. Even for a clutch of crazy people, murderers, whatever. I think the worst ones were the men and women that consciously decided they were going to mangle the part of them that wasn't broken beyond function. Then, crack their minds open and figure out to what extent they could fuck their thoughts up even more.

I was between feeling terrible and feeling like bitter justice was served. Everything was a whirling mess of gray with globs of black.

One room I entered on the far side had a patient curled up on his cot, trembling. I knelt down to film him through the nightvision feed, taking in the details of his misshapen face. Many of the patients I had encountered thus far had scars or wounds of unknown origin, from experiments Murkoff was performing on them. It was briefly mentioned in Chris Walker's file, many of his injuries were self-inflicted, but the report indicated not all. Were the patient's the one mutilating their bodies, prior to Murkoff's fall? Not all of them shared these injuries, some appeared almost normal or unharmed.

It must have been a part of the process Murkoff was putting them through. But what sort of process I couldn't begin to imagine. Some of the scars appeared almost like chemical burns in theory. What sort of monster would give an order to maim humans?

"Too many voices. They followed me back." He stumbled into me as I swayed to get out of his way. "No more sleep." He grabbed my collar and forced me aside, and then continued on toward a bloody spot on the wall without pause.

Wack.

Smack!

Crack!

Clack!

"They're in my blood and they want to get out. Can feel…."

I continued to back away until I was a safe distance, concealed in shadows. My back pressed against the cold wall and I slid down to sit.

"We angered Him with our science. He only wanted faith."

The voice sounded very close, but when I turned my camera to find him, he was a few feet away curled up tightly in a corner. I sat there for what felt like a long time observing the habits of these people, lost in madness. Eventually the man whom stared at pillar did move, at first leaning on his subject matter, then slipping down until he was on his side facing the cold concrete structure. I turned my attention back to the man in wheelchair, but he had not yet moved since he spoke. I wondered if he did indeed die. It made no difference to me, not at this time, but I did feel a unique chill in my veins at the thought. How many people have I watched die today?

"Voices in my head follow me back!" When the head banger made his third round, I decided it was time to find a way out.

Without a word of farewell to the squatter, I crossed to the other side of the wall to doors that had not been examined. I was beginning to despair, surrendering resolve to the idea of returning to the upper level, to the twins.

It was very likely they would open the door only to murder me. There was no place for me to run, or hide. Especially with the two of them, they'd corner me with little effort if I tried. My heart thudded against the stress, and that persistent pain in my chest. I needed a doctor.

A door I opened finally offered some promise, the back of the room was shattered revealing a crack into an open work space. A shred of concern did remain in me to enter a room in which I could not open from the inside, but I didn't give a damn at this point. I squeezed through the gap and pulled up the nightvision, it sounded like someone was struggling.

I wasn't confident in facing the source, if I had someplace to run I might felt more assured. Truth was safety was an illusion in Mount Massive, my only hope for survival was my capacity to elude danger.

There wasn't much to see in the work hall, pipes for water, pipes for gas, I couldn't tell which from the static green NV feed. The noises were muffled but grew louder as I moved through the work space. I didn't like the sound of them. Overhead the cement had been torn out, where the debris was removed to remained a mystery but it was a direction to take.

I climbed onto a crate and made sure it was sturdy before leaping up to an overhead ledge. For a span I was completely blind in the dark, the camera strap I stuck in my mouth rather the case so I could reach it quicker. Once I had pulled myself onto the floor I knelt and took it up, looking immediately into the visor.

A face covered in ants stared back.

I gave a sharp yelp and toppled sideways, catching the jagged edge with my elbows before I fell through, my legs swung beneath me and I struggled not to drop the camera in my hand. Groaning, I pulled myself back up and crawled away before checking once more.

"Agh! God damnit! What the fuck is the matter with you?" One of the patients had plastered himself against a wall and was fixing his shirt. He wasn't wearing pants. On the floor across from him was a bloodied and decapitated body, nude, in a…suggestive position. "You weren't invited to this, you god damned sicko."

Just….This place needed to go to hell. Some of the people here did deserve what they got.

"What, you like to watch?" He pointed directly at me and reaffirmed his diagnosis. "It's sick. You're sick."

And thus my pledge, not to speak to any of these people, was solidified. You couldn't stage better propaganda.

"_Fuck this place. Seriously, just fuck this place. Dying keeps moving lower on the list of the worst things that could happen to me here."_

I jogged down the hall, an otherwise good mood literally—No, no. I needed to forget. Positive thoughts, healthy thoughts. I was terribly fucking lost, had no map, two naked men were admitted into my fan club, and dying was no longer top of the list of shitty ways to ruin this day.

Or night. I had no fucking idea.

"Hey! Hey!" I stopped in an intersecting hall when someone called for me, and rattled a gate. He was on the other side, which made me happy. "You… Oh. I…." By the time I had my camera zoomed in he had already spun about and was running away. The small event had me smirking despite everything, who did he think I was? A friend?

Lord give me strength, I was just mistaken for a loony. And I thought it was funny.


	5. Chapter 5

Down the Drain

A trail of bloody footprints led from the shadows across to an iron door. If it wasn't locked I might've continued through, driven on by my sick curiosity. Beyond the safety of a secured door could await dangers the same as the hall I was now in, but I couldn't afford not to check. The thought alone brought chills to my spine, that behind any door a new danger could await. How far could I run before I was caught? In this place I welcomed broken lights.

I returned to the lit path now on my left, were another of the countless slain of this place rested. Briefly, I looked over his body, maybe he had a card or something I could use later. The nametag read Doug Jenkins, he was high level security, probably down here to regain control and lost himself in the process. He had no weapons, but he was grasping a walkie talkie. From that I salvage two batteries, there was a chance they would have no power given the drafty chill that slunk in through every corridor.

As I continued through the broken segregation gate, I realized this was where that camera shy freak had made his scene. I was glad he seemed to be gone, but his absence was discomforting. Nothing had changed since I left this area, the gate still locked, but the floor along my right had shattered from some climatic event. A thin edge of cement remained, enough for me to strafe along I gambled. It looked sturdy enough with rebar exposed at the crumbling edge, the drop wasn't far enough to hurt if I did manage to fall.

The Asylum was shut down years ago, and degraded to a condemned state before the Murkoff Corpotration reopened it for their research. They didn't even bother with the minimal of repairs to maintain it, they barely shoveled out the collapsed ruble from walls and floors. I could just picture the memo

_ All staff must use Cell 52-E to reach the other side of the upper floors_

I began to wonder if some of the patients locked away were ever looked in on, or if Murkoff only focused on those used in their research. Even a doomed dog was fed up until he was put down. Those affiliated with Murkoff were some of the lowest of the lowest bastards out there.

Carefully I slide my back along the rough wall and tested my weight on what remained of the walkway. It felt more than sturdy, as I continued to slink along little by little. I tried to focus on my footing and not get distracted by the lost souls, locked in their broken routine. The man that had been smashing his skull against the walls had sat down and, I think he was mumbling to himself while he persisted to crack the side of his head on the corner of a pillar.

They could have easily killed me, the opportunity was still there should they decide to pursue - hunt me down. But the humane side of me felt sickened to the core. Something about this, everything that was done here, the way they were left, was all wrong. If there was a way to escape Mount Massive, why had they not left this place? Or had others already fled? The Warrant for Seizure indicated so, before all of this came about.

When I reached the other side, I barely recalled the twins and their sick promise. They were absent.

"You, ah, didn't wait until I finished." I sprang back as the man from the room I omitted to shut, sprang across the distance and shoved at the door. "But I saved some for you. Just wait." He turned and skipped down the steps like a jolly school boy, his voice full of merriment. "Just wait…Mm! Hmm!"

Maybe I should have shut his door AND propped the little chair in front of it, for good measure.

The open hall behind me was the only available route. The lights above had failed in this section, but I could make out dark blood splatters scrawled on the wall across from me, illuminated by an open door. I wanted to avoid using the cameras NV as much as possible, but odd sounds were nearby somewhere in the dark. Beside me was a set of bars, but pressed against them 'gazing' up at me was another discarded man tied up in a straightjacket with bindings coiled about his mouth and eyes.

It was easy to feel sorry for him, and attempt to undo the cruelty done to him. But my instincts warned me to hold my ground, and this time I listened. The worst killers of our world could feign normalcy, but the soil in their basement could conceal the bodies of many duped by this illusion. I easily recognized a makeshift muzzle.

From this point on I burned it into my thoughts, if I didn't I was damned. Speak with no one. Trust no one. EVERYONE wanted to kill me in some way. The MHS cop warned me to hide, well I could fuckin hide.

Ahead, someone, probably their 'Father' Martin, scrawled a new message for me in red.

God annoys…

I blinked and read again.

God Always Provides a Way.

Follow the blood

Below the wording was a red streak, another wide mark was on the ground leading into some sort of pressurized chamber. The interior was lined with what looked like foil or thermal material of some type, most likely a fire retardant. I examined the large pipes that ran along the upper corners, connecting into pressurized caps. As I entered my attention dropped to the floor, where there was a pair of bloody shoeprints I recognized. The door hissed shut upon my entry and a shriek of hydraulics spooked me. My mind flashed to Auschwitz, death camps and gas chambers. I knew at once this wasn't to be my demise, it was a light chemical spray to sterilize the air. Though it did manage to stall my heart for a second.

Once the pumps ceased, the opposite door opened and I stepped out. I was still shaken, but continued on without hitch. Another broken segregation gate and beyond that stairs that curled up and around leading to the next floor. Behind the first set of steps lay the crushed pieces of a wheelchair, I ducked to check behind them for anything valuable to my progress but there was nothing, aside from more low key patient files discussing prescriptions for the none volatile class. The sounds of muttering came to me, and I took the concrete steps softly gazing up at the floor above.

On the wall was a large arrow indicating my route, I touched the edge to certify the blood was fresh, still sliding down the brick wall. A large plate read A Block. The Block I just came from was B Block. Good to know.

The voice grew louder, and echoed as I made the first landing. Another locked grate, but an area I was excused from exploring.

Continuing up the steps I could pick up an overbearing reek of old copper, along with the source of the voice. Another emaciated patient scooted sideways, pressing his knuckles into the weathered cement wall until he had worn the skin away leaving bloody smears.

"Down the drain. With the blood, he said." He seemed fully lost in the wall and strafed right, then left, repeating his words. "Only way out is down the drain."

Behind him slouched against the wall was what looked like a doctor, he was dressed in thick white scrubs stained black with blood. My shoes squelched in the fluid as I neared him, and I turned my eyes back to the patient as he continued with his song and dance. I raised the camera and filmed his jargon, then turned to the dead man. It looked as though he had been sliced in multiple areas and all his blood poured out onto the floor, I stepped over the puddle and looked into a crimson bucket across from him filled completely with the thick black clumps.

My stomach did a flip and I retreated to the far side of the hall, another dead end blocked with crap. I sat down on the desk to gather myself while I watched the patient shuffle and repeat. "Down the drain," he said. I took a shallow breath through my collar and exhaled.

This reminded me of the dead man I found in the lavatory, with "Witness" painted on the wall above him. Down the drain. With the blood. I guess I knew where all the blood scribbles came from. It was never a mystery in the first place.

There was another file on the desk beside me. I checked my friend before I turned to the folder and did my best to record the pages with the night vision.

_From: .com _

_To: .com _

_Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT "FATHER" MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD _

_Helen- _

_Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program. My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since canceling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some "higher calling" have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you're saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can't imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality. _

_Please advise. _

_Dr. Neil Wolfram_

Martin Archimbaud. Yep, sounded like my guy. It felt good to know for certain he was the one leaving all these messages for me.

Fuck you Murkoff. Why couldn't you just let the man finger paint? It would have saved so many lives.

My heel slipped in the blood as I tried to step over it, but I caught myself before I could lose my balance. I shuffled along the floor following a set of bare feet prints stained thick with blood leading along the same route, to a hole in the concrete and rebar where the drooping arrow on the wall directed my path down into it.

"With the blood, he said."

Sighing, I eased myself down the opening and looked around. Another corridor, blood stained floor, walls eroded and bleached, the usual. Furniture was crammed down the way with dark streaks across the surface, and another pressurized chamber with blood indicating through a sealed door.

I took note that this was the room I had seen from the other side of the gate, and cursed my bad luck colorfully.

The door failed to open on my approach, it was either locked due to malfunction or just flat out locked. There should be a way around, but the path marked out for me was through there. I wouldn't rationalize following a blood trail left by a psychotic 'priest,' but maybe he would show me the way OUT of this place if I humored him.

I didn't want to think about his plans if this was all some elaborate delusion of his, right before he or one of the other patients decided to murder me. In the distance I could hear screaming, or someone sobbing, or something between the two. It seemed like there was always someone crying out, for whatever reason. I had a suspicion that for many it was their last cry before death.

Or escape through finality.

Light on my feet. Be observant. And above all else, survive.

I covered my nose as the heavy stench of rot hit me hard. Another corpse, right beside the desk I crawled over. Everyone with a half a mind in this place was dead.

"Just shut up and let me think for a minute."

The sound of grunts and meaty thwacks came from around the corner. I dove down against the wall and listened as the violence continued. It sounded like someone was sobbing and thumping about with wild abandon. "Quiet! Quiet! Ah!" Then it ended.

This place was horrible. I hated this place. Down the drain. Gotta get out. I repeated these meditations to myself as I crawled under a murky window with trails of soggy red slipping down. The wall would end in a few feet, I would be exposed to whomever was there.

Slowly, I peeked around the edge into what looked like an office, or check station. Another corpse of the asylum, and fresh I presumed. A patient stood over the body with a wet club, droplets still dripped from the desk onto the crushed man. It might've been my nerves, but I swore the body jerked as the last impulses left what was left of his brain.

The patient turned his head, then spun fully to where I was. I froze in place coiled in a crouch ready to sprint. I was right in the middle of the opening, there in full view of the murderer.

"I'd like you to stay quiet."

He remained where he was and I stayed right where I was on my hands and knee. Caught in a stupor, I nodded and scooted away.

That was weird.

I checked a Security door from my humbled position, and he gently reminded me to be quiet. I used the shelf in the next hall to pull myself up and get going. I just needed to stay quiet. That corpse was quiet.

At the halls end waited a metal door which I carefully opened, without so much as a whisper. Inside the room a figure stood tall staring up at monitors mounted high on the wall. Below them was a darkened window, I was between figuring out what was marked on the glass and the man as he spoke to open air.

"Trying to trap us in here." Camera stupid, get your camera. I lifted it and checked the visor, needed to hit record too. Of all things….

"Not a lot they can do about it lying in their own steaming guts, is there?"

The variants were responsible for this shit hole disaster. But how did they manage to kill the Security personal, and the MHS? As far as body count went (excluding limbs and pieces) those that could be identified had all been staff, very few of the slain had been patients. This statistic should be reversed, unless they moved their dead. I didn't believe enough of them had the cognitive faculty for that, but I hardly viewed a blood stain that was unaccounted for. I was barely scraping the surface of this horror mystery.

"Who…?" He had spied me when the door creaked as I leaned in a little. "You're one of Murkoff sons of bitches, aren't you? I want to show you something."

He had nearly reached me at the end of that sentence, but I had whirled away to run. He wanted to kill me. Thought I was Murkoff or something, maybe I looked too normal for him. I didn't feel healthy in thought.

"You FUCKER!"

I tried the metal door across from the librarian, locked. No shit. I darted off as my pursuer skid around the corner. There was no other place for me to go, no place to hide! Maybe I could get back up the drain, it was my only option I could see.

At the halls darkened end, all but invisible was the hairline creep of light from a door! I picked up speed smashing it open with an arm, in the same motion I spun about catching the edge and threw it shut. I didn't see if he had followed this far, or if his hoots had done him in.

I looked around, another office. There was a desk, filing cabinets that hadn't found the hall yet, a barred room with lockers and janitorial equipment. I walked the perimeter and found an open cell door, through the NV feed I could make out a bed but little else. I entered and shut the gate and slipped under the bed. Here I lay safely secured by my only ally, the shadows. He would know I had no place to hide, no place to run. If only there was a way I could lock that gate.

The door knob twisted and the door opened. My breath caught as I turned my face into my shoulder and shut my eyes.

"Son's of bitches." I heard his footfalls fade. The door of a locker opened and shut, all in the same motion. "Sooner or later. Doesn't matter." I pried an eye open as he paced the room, he paused to examine the bars of the room I hid within. I stare at him unblinking, it felt like my heart and blood ceased all at once. If he came in he would find me.

But the closed gate deterred him, and he swung away knocking over the computer monitor out of spite. The screen crashed and flashed out beside my head, I hadn't flinched from the explosion and saw bright spots as a result. "Doesn't matter." Satisfied with his inspection, he turned and exited the room whistling an off tune melody.

Even after his song faded, and the clack of a door echoed to the room, I waited. I could never overcome this icy clutch of feebleness I felt, the overbearing weight that my life was out of my control. I shoved myself a little more under the bed until my back pressed against the wall. For a moment I felt safe.

People live in famine, mothers watch their children starve. Families are torn apart by war, yet life goes on. Men kill children because their leader orders it, then live free and safe because they are still useful.

The world had fucked up shit in it. I was going to get out of here, I was going to survive and tell the story. Others had survived. My will couldn't be broken, no matter what they did. I hadn't seen the worst of it yet. There will always be the worst, waiting just around the corner.

I pushed my arms out and crawled from under the bed. A little puddle of blood had stained my elbow, but it was so insignificant. This was probably my most favorite room in this entire place. It was so…tame.

"They weren't experiments." His sudden voice didn't alarm me, I think I knew he was there the whole time. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, staring into the dark and where his shape moved. "They were rituals. A conjuring."

A conjuring. This seemed along the same lines the Priest was on about. This 'Walrider' he called it, same as in the project reports that Murkoff based their studies. And they found it in the mountains.

I rose to my feet and left, trying to find the door so I could shut it, only to recall it was on the other side of the door frame. He was still muttering behind it as I tiptoed through the hall, listening for the echo of steps not my own. It sounded like the patient left through the metal gates, but I hadn't seen the quiet man yet.

Cautious and quietly, I stepped beside the wall that separated us. He was still there, now staring at the cold corpse. He didn't seem too interested as I passed by toward the control room, this suited me.

I peered into the open room before waltzing right in. Desk with monitor to my left, control panel where I left it, and lockers with a desk situated in front of them on the far right. I crossed over to the panel where a button sat on the terminal, one that looked important or might shed some light on my whereabouts. I gave it a swat and cringed when the lights behind the glass blazed a nasty yellow, the doors hissed as they opened.

Follow the blood.

I had to hand it to the 'Father' Martin, he was getting creative with his grim messages. If I moved side to side I could tell the arrow indicating my path was painted inside the sterilizing chamber, and Follow was scripted on the glass. It would have been more impressive if the message wasn't written in blood.

My battery was running low on power, best to fix that now while everything was calm. I decided to use one that I had salvaged from the guard and popped it in, but was dismayed to find it only had half strength. Probably because it was some off brand Murkoff had ordered, typical. Better than nothing.

I listened, picking up the faint pats of bare feet echoing from the hall. The doors had made a good deal of noise when I activated them.

The camera went to its hoister, and I moved quickly to the lockers and slipped inside. Two lockers. Wouldn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out if both were empty….

I held my breath when he entered. Indeed, it was the librarian. He approached my side of the room, checking the brightened window as he twisted the sticky club in his red hands. He was thinking of leaving, there was no one in this room. Just turn and leave, there would be no more noises, at least not until I was safe beyond those doors.

His gaze fell on the lockers. I swallowed as he moved over and pulled the latch on one. There were two lockers, someone was in the second one. That was what he was thinking.

He shut the door and turned to the next, right when I decided to throw it open and flew out. The door smashed into his chest, as a result I couldn't clear the door and tumbled when my foot glanced the sharp lining of the interior. He toppled to his knees as I rolled into the filing cabinet.

"Come back here!" He had already made it to his feet and was nearly upon me as I scrambled to get up, my vision distorted by vertigo like in a bad dream. I bolted for the open hall dead ahead.

A sharp whistled cut through the air and I felt the crushing blow to my shoulder, causing me to stagger. The walls quivered as my vision warped, the pain began a slow march up my shoulder into my neck. I didn't know if it was broken, quickly I decided it couldn't be.

I zipped around the corners and flew over the desk, the patient had trouble keeping up from whatever Murkoff had done to him, or I was just moving too fast for my own good. I skipped across the bloody threshold of the sterilizer's doors, they shut at once and misted the area with their foul smelling spray. Even after the other door opened I knelt down for a beat, to calm my nerves and test my shoulder. It was hurt, not fractured, but it would bruise up later. Regardless of what could happen, I needed my arms no matter what. Hell, if they were tethered by little tendons, or bloody-butchered stumps I would still use them. I couldn't afford not to.

Red streaks and an arrow greeted me on the other side. At least it was something. I stepped out, checking around the corner and listened. No sounds, nothing but the occasional distant shriek. I ventured into the decrepit hall and tried the Security door, locked of course. The hall ahead was still inviting and the familiar echoes of cracking came to me, I stepped over a fire extinguisher as I went. I wanted to kick the stupid thing but knowing this place it would spew ice or blood, or something else horrible. The hall took a left, but in an alcove at its end was another dead man, but I wasn't keeping count. Looked like another one of Murkoff's Research division, he seemed a long way from home.

In actuality, I was losing my patience with them. I had seen so many corpses, dead and crushed in every way imaginable, and why? Why the fuck did they lose control of this place? Why wasn't anyone alive? Why couldn't they have gotten out, called someone, and kept me from joining them in this shithole?

I paused and sighed as I reached the corner. I wasn't being fair. I had entered under my own terms, though I had misgivings, I ignored them until it was too late. The one to blame here was not the people duped into working this system. It was me. I had to look in the mirror and remind myself, I had climbed into that window. I wanted the story. I was getting the fuckin story of a lifetime.

Just had to survive it first.

"We gave him a chance."

Oh for Christ's sake….

"That we did."

"I'd say we were more than fair."

"Paragons of patience."

The voices drifting around the corner sounded amused, or pleased, or every sort of happy I could describe. I glanced around the edge ready to bolt if necessary, but it looked like they had another one of those beautiful metal gates between them and me. I breathed a sigh of relief, and winced. My ribs hated me.

"Job-like in the suppression of our desires."

"But now."

"Now."

"Now we indulge."

"Yes."

"His tongue and his liver."

"Yours."

"Mine."

My options seemed unfairly limited.

I stepped out from behind the safety zone and moved forward, keeping eyes locked on the twins. They watched my every move with a morbid fascination I was not comfortable with. The gate between us might have looked locked, or they might wait until I neared and then they would burst through. They couldn't know I was trapped here, if they had plans they would wait until I was too close that they could catch me with little effort. But I had no idea what was going on here.

Aside from the discussion of how to divide me up. I refused to imagine what those plans entailed.

The first door on the segregation section had been torn off and left in the middle of the floor. I stepped on it as I examined the area keeping a portion of my attention on the twins, always. They were on the other side of the second gate with weapons that could slip through the bars easily to deal fatal injuries. Beyond the frame on the left was another door labeled Security, I didn't know if it was locked or not and I didn't plan to get close enough to find out. They said nothing more, content to palm the flat side of their weapons and teeter anxiously as I weighed my 'options.' On my right was a smashed out window with a dark crimson stain stretched on the sill, but that presented no better route. Was the mark another indication of my path by the 'Father?'

I looked out without getting too close, viewing a long drop to Block B where I first explored. The man that had been smashing his skull into walls had resumed his mission, and patrolled, sobbing about voices. From the distance he was easily identified by his blood drenched face, as his actions. I thought he would've succumbed to the self-mutilation long ago.

I pretended not to notice the twins as I climbed onto the sill and slipped over, grabbing the ledge on the other side and hung there. My shoes scuffed against the wall, but my grip was firm despite my wounded arm. There were no other areas of interest to the right, but I knew the twins could judge my actions and would wait for me wherever I decided to go. If I slipped under their view I might have a chance to get up on the other side and take off before they could surprise me.

Given there was any place to go once I was there. A locked door could be waiting, or a blocked corridor. The fresh bruise in my muscle alerted me to action, as visions of my body plummeting to certain death haunted the forefront of my mind. I hastened my movements locking it in my mind that I must not let go, no matter what. Was there even a way in, a shattered window that was away from those two?

There was, but it wasn't far enough to be worthwhile. At this point my arm was burning, I needed to rest it or I wouldn't be able to pull myself up. From there my only option would be to drop.

I braced my toes against the wall and heaved up over the frame enough to see into the hall.

They were gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Just a shout out and thanks to Xcom-anders and Samoacookie for the reviews. And the favs and the happy that's going on. Glad ya'll are enjoying the read and hope to continue to entertain. Just wish there was more Outlast love out there *sad faces***

Criminally Sane

The ache in my arms forced me to action, either I'd learn where the twins had hidden themselves or I'd fall to my death. If I could locate them from a distance away, I'd have the time to between us to run. I pretended to believe this, I couldn't dangle here any longer.

I pulled my body over the frame as much as I could, then edged my knee up and pushed myself in. I let my body recover from the exertion, while keeping attention on the empty hall. The sound of burnt sparks and hitching caught my attention, but I wanted to make certain the room they had been standing beside previously wasn't occupied. I couldn't recall if the window near me was shattered, though I never picked up the distinct sound of a forced entry. I even doubted if they could break the plexi windows.

It felt safe, and was empty aside from another body slumped in a chair seated at the terminal. Another security room offering much of the same, but no lockers to hide in should my fan club return. I wouldn't get the chance anyway, I was cornered here.

I looked over some of the filing cabinets checking for patient files, what I did find dealt primarily with diagnosis and progress reports, little of interest. Some of the drawers were locked, and probably these held more files on Murkoff's work and Project Walrider. There were a few desks at the back of the room near the locked Security door, in them were personal items and memos to the staff. One had a battery, a find much more worthwhile than a wallet filled with twenties.

I might've taken them anyway.

A view window separated the room from a decontamination chamber, before it sat the terminal and computers. The monitors had slipped to screensaver mode displaying relaxing ripples, and liquid bubbles. Among the mess of papers was another file, though it was enlightening if not building on the confusion that choked my thoughts.

_MURKOFF CORP. P.G. MAINTENANCE MEMO_

_Proper Purge Gate maintenance is crucial to PROJECT WLARIDER security. Please refer to Murkoff Corp. Maintenance Manual MMPSMM180286 or seek guidance from a supervisor with the proper security clearance._

This struck me as odd. Purge gates, installed specifically for Project Walrider? All along I had this delusion it was to keep microbes and other pathogens from contaminating other patients involved with the experimentations. These were unique to Murkoff's research, this I knew. But what was Murkoff's intent on purging? And was it contagious? The doctors and staff didn't seem concerned with that, I had seen no micro protective suits anywhere.

I checked the hall before climbing from the ruined window, it felt like the solid walls around me vibrated from some force unknown to me and echoed with an ancient power. Or was it my nerves picking up a looming threat? The broken catch was coming from further down the corridor, a purge unit that was malfunctioning. Beyond it a short hall that led to door with a plate beside that read Showers. Beneath the door, the red stains had been brushed on the floor guiding me on the path I needed to follow.

Call me crazy.

The door was locked and needed another key card. Well, fuck. It would be some sort of fucking catastrophe if it was around here, wouldn't it? The world would just fucking end if I didn't go hunt it down.

I proceeded along the darkened hall to find another of the doctors, bloody and beaten till his uniform was black and tinged with puss. It looked like he had tried to reach something on the other side of the gate, maybe a key. Or someone had snagged him and tried to tear him through the tiny bars.

I returned to the malfunctioning doors as my best lead and inched through, activating the night feed to make sure I didn't trip on a body or something. The echo of panicked shrieks clattered around the caged corridor. I actually hurried my steps around the corner to find their origin, hardcore reporter instincts right there. Someone was pleading below, and I just passed by metal gates in time to see a large shape I was not pleased to find here.

He was holding a man, and literally ripped his body OFF of his head. Not the other way around, I mean, he pulled this man's torso out from under his head! I stood shocked, listening to him mutter to himself as he wandered away completely abandoning the other patients darting about.

"We have to contain it."

I waited, expecting the big fucker to grab me from behind and tear my body in two. What had he said?

"_I can't shake Chris Walker, the big ugly fucker who likes ripping off peoples' heads. I hear him muttering about security protocols, containment. What if he's not the problem? What if he's trying to fix it?_"

I wrote down the time from my camera and sat in the light escaping through the bars. Patients were still screaming below in the prison block, one of them was running around trying to climb out of that place. I didn't blame him.

"_He'll kill us all for being sick._" Did he mean their mental deficiencies? Or what Murkoff had done to them? It was becoming obscure between where they had been committed, and where Murkoff took over. Chris wasn't exactly a daisy himself. But the containment chambers, Murkoff had been quartering something off. Project Walrider? Was that what had happened to this place?

My facts were scattered. Whatever Murkoff had been trying to do, it got out of hand and killed everyone here. Chris was a threat, but…I was afraid to admit this - he wasn't the enemy I should be running from.

I put my notepad away and made the remainder of the trip to the end of the corridor, but it was a dead end. But it wasn't a waste, a guard had fallen in the corner with a magnet card pinned to his breast pocket.

As I passed by the bars on my return, a patient dove down from a hole in the floor above. "See the egress…get flushed with the rest of us shits." He hoped off out of sight, following a path opposite of the blood stains I was directed on by my 'benefactor.'

I stopped to strain and see where it was he had gone, looked like stairs going down. Was that the one I hadn't shut the door on? How'd he get over there? By the bloody marks, it seemed soon my path would lead to that side regardless.

This meant the patients had alternate ways of getting around, and some had access to the segregation gates. Of course, who took over the jail when all the wardens had been murdered? The meek would inherit the world.

Maybe it was better I was not on the exact same route, I did not want to run into these people at every corner. To cross paths was inevitable, but any shred of opportunity to avoid a meeting I would snatch up. Too many close calls already, eventually I would foul up. Death stained the walls and it was following me. Or I was following it.

I hastened through the broken doors, not feeling better that this brief obstacle was overcome. Progress was progress at this point, gradual and frustrating, but as long as I was on my feet (and clothed) I shouldn't be complaining.

The magnet door gave me some trouble, because it was the path I was directed on and that's the only reason I could see for it to malfunction at this one point in time. I gave the panel a smack with my fist, and regretted that, but it seemed to knock the reader into functioning order. See, I could fight back.

As I stepped into the black room, a loud crack filled the air causing me to jump backwards. I took a breath and stretched a bit to loosen the knots in my muscles. Just thunder, that storm I had beaten to this place had finally arrived. Wouldn't help matters, couldn't hurt them either. I took a deep breath and coughed at the smell, I was getting used to it by this point, though I didn't want to admit that. I couldn't remember what the fresh outside air smelled like.

My camera had fallen to a fourth of its battery life, but it'd hold. As long as the recording functions and everything were going, I was good.

Lockers and boxes. Not lockers I could camp in, just small cubbies to store the stuff mentally unstable people should not have access to. Like small pieces that could be easily swallowed.

I was caged in by wire mesh that extended up a distance I was certain I could climb with ease, however, the main concern was the other side. The fence ended at a sheer drop, some distance above a tiled floor. Shrieking was coming from that lower area, what looked like a filthy shower covered in gravel or dirt, I couldn't discern through the camera, it didn't matter either way. More patients hurrying to a hole torn out in the concrete floor.

This was where the 'Father' wanted me to go, I think. How the hell would I get over there? And why were the patients in such a frantic state to reach it as well? From their voices they sounded panicked, as though a great urgency had arrived to escape through that hole. Was someone chasing them? I had twenties stacked on the big fucker.

At any rate we were all herded in the same direction, by Father Martin. No mystery they believed what he was on about. Didn't mean I was, I needed a way out of here that didn't involve the sweet release of death.

Damn it, I wouldn't die after coming this far.

There was no safe way down there over the mesh, no footholds or wrecked openings that I could make out. Just a drop that would leave at least one leg broken or sprained, the point being I didn't need to risk it if there was a way around. The patients had a way to get down there, I couldn't make out from where exactly, just a hall that led out of the shadows. I must have been on the right track, though it felt far out of the way and redundant. At least I was alone.

Lightening flashed, and I thought I saw something. Something that frightened me. I eased around the fence corner and listened, but heard nothing. Maybe my nerves were frayed, there was a curtain blowing in the breeze, some windows along this level had been shattered but I doubted that I would survive a fall from this height.

I remained wary and stepped out, creeping along the shadowed side of the fence. Night vision, that would settle things. I looked through the visor and saw a large, sinew shape stalking towards me.

Just before I could turn and flee his path, the soft pads of bare feet caught me before the roar of thunder clattered, and light filled the hall. I didn't dare drop my eyes from the black veil that retook the open space, if I turned to acknowledge the figure at my back that would be the moment death ripped through me. My worst fears were realized, as though all this time they had mingled among my restive thoughts. I was cornered.

It felt like time had ground still at that precise moment, the droplets running down windows ran up backwards. I might die here in this instant, my corpse gutted and I would turn into another nameless sap. Another victim to this morbid hospital. Devoured alive by nightmares tearing into reality.

I threw myself out the open window.

"My god, he vanished."

"Vanished without a trace." The other sounded lazy or amused.

I clung by one hand, the cold winter rain seeped through the fibers of my coat and streams of water from the wall slipped down my sleeve. My other hand clutched the camera to my chest as I trembled against a sharp gale of wind. I would not let it go, I refused to lose that camera! Quickly I shoved it into the pack and made sure it was secure and covered by my coat before slapping my hand up to the soaked ledge, and inched to the right. Don't slip, for gods sake don't lose your grip Miles.

"I detect sarcasm."

"It was," he paused, probably to smirk, "my intention."

"He thinks we're assholes." Yep.

"Or stupid." Nope. Truthfully, nope. Just assholes.

"Let's pull him in and slit his belly open." Holy shit move, I gotta get out of here!

"Wait. Just a moment."

I shuffled along the ledge, my legs dangling in open air and soaked. When I awoke in Martin's cell my pants had nearly completely dried, and now I was fully soaked on this little detour. Not the highlight of my concerns for the moment – focus, focus, focus.

The ledge ended at some distance, but an open window was available if I could get enough leverage to pull myself up. I scrapped my toes into the slick brick and hauled my soggy body up, until I was over the sill enough to see the hall. In the dark I couldn't make out where the twins had gone, but I heard nothing over the drum of rain on glass. Without a second thought I heaved into the safety of shadows and kept low, hurrying into my original route. I slicked my hands dry against the lining of my coat and brought up the camera in my damp fingers, only checking through the visor when the light was abandoned. It was total black, my gaze lost on the floor in my haste to get away. I happened upon a door and flung it open, not nearly thankful enough that it wasn't locked. I shut it softly and spun around, about ready to fall as my body quivered in the cold and my waterlogged shoes met the gritty tile.

Halls. Just halls. Janitorial bucket, a mop (poor sort of weapon). No indication of where to go from here, no sound of life, a minimal amount of safety by first appearance. I didn't feel like I was missing much.

The hall to my right was dark, but my battery was still holding out on power. On the other hand, it looked like the lamps still worked if I continued forward to the next corner.

I decided to check the dark hall, given circumstances I was safer sitting in a shadow than in the open light fully exposed to potential dangers. The path led through a gate, I crossed the wide stretch to check and confirm another gate was locked on one end, before I turned to address a light source that had been on my left. It was more or less what I expected.

Some sort of disciplinary room, I gauged, not sure though. I took as much from the chair to the side, a makeshift toilet and electric chair though there were no visible cords hooked to it, only the restraints for the neck and wrists. It could've been used for shock therapy, though that was outlawed forever ago. Trust Murkoff to bring back the classics.

More decay, on the other side of the chair an assortment of limbs had been abandoned, blue and black, the skin and muscle barely clinging to the bones and flies swarming. I buried my nose in my wet sleeve and turned my sight toward one of the holding cells, where a guard lay folded in half. Backwards. Looked like someone tried to drag him into the edge of the floor.

On the desk at the other side was another privy folder, which I was glad to open and go through. I read through it three times until my mind had focused and I was picking up the actual words on the file, rather the flashes and burn of fetid flesh clawing at my back.

_Please find attached a copy of the DEATH CERTIFICATE for RUDOLF G. WERNICKE, Murkoff Psychiatric Systems subcontractor no. 148616._

_No surviving family. _

_STATE OF COLORADO hold to light to view watermark _

_File No. 8732 _

_Place: Colorado _

_Town or City: Mount Massive Preserve _

_Full Name: Rudolf Gustav Wernicke _

_Length of residence in city or town where death occurred: 0 Years, 7 months _

_How long in U.S., if of foreign birth: 55 years _

_Sex: Male _

_Color or Race: White _

_Single, Married, Widowed, or Divorced (write the word): Single. _

_Date of Birth: October 20, 1918 _

_Birthplace: Germany _

_Date of Death: February 28, 2009 _

_I hereby certify: that I attended deceased from June 4, 2003 to February 28, 2009 that I saw him alive on February 27, 2009, that death occurred on the date stated above at 4:11 AM. _

_The principal cause of death and related causes of importance were as follows: _

_"Heart failure due to advanced age." _

_THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THIS IS A TRUE AND CORRECT COPY OF THE OFFICIAL RECORD_

The file included some images of him prior to death, and some earlier in his life, but most of it was medical data and some interviews a week before he had passed. No images of his body post death were included.

Rudolf Wernicke was one of few men apart of Project Paperclip, and he had been contracted by Murkoff for his mathematical and scientific advancements, but he had never made it to that day. What a shame. But there were contradictions to this file, and certain facts. I knew it before reading this. One file stated he had overseen experiments done on Chris Walker, and I recall reading an article two years prior glorifying his research. A stupid sick document of how he was one of the greatest minds of his era, and how the world of science missed his contributions. And in this particular report it stated that he had died around three years ago.

The inaccuracies involved with all the information relevant to Dr. Rudolf Wernicke was atrocious. What was going on here? He had no surviving family.

I shut the file and slipped it under a box before leaving that room and shutting the door behind me. The distant howl of a sick soul reached my ears and I paused to dwell on it, as I did the files I had compiled thus far. I toggled through the functions of my camera as easily as one might clench their fist, I read through the file tacking down that it was authentic. I was putting off the inevitable.

No other option but the lit hall. I returned, poking around the corner and listening for footfalls, muttering, anything that screamed death. Aside from a distant shriek, it was calm. My attention was drawn to the left where dark hand prints streaked up and down a wall, beside the doors of a purge chamber. By the looks of it the door had no power. For now I let it go and walked along the wall and glanced out the dark windows to my right, I couldn't see but I didn't bother to bring up the NV either. Looked like another cell block but the glass was filthy with dirt and steam, it could have as easily been an outdoor courtyard. I was too fucking lost to come up with anything more creative.

I began to wonder what it was like for the doctors to work in this place, once Murkoff Corp had taken over. Some voiced concerns for the conditions of their patients and probably were genuinely unaware of Murkoff's true intentions, or they didn't want to know. They had to realize something was wrong, I couldn't believe these people spent hours with their patients and never saw a change in their behavior. Given, Murkoff was using hypnosis to alter their ideals and memories, maybe the patients themselves had no idea what was going on, despite how shattered their minds were to begin with. But someone was aware. They contacted me.

I had my doubts that the whistleblower made it out of this, even before things went bad. Murkoff either didn't care that someone was contacted, or they were too busy dying.

I passed through another segregation gate, and continued all the way to the end of the hall and discovered the most creative death by far. The poor fool had gotten his head stuck in a purge chamber, and presumably his head was still on the other side.

A chilling thought came to me. What if he intended to die this way?

I turned away and noted those familiar shoe prints leading from the doctors body, towards a Security room. I half expected the door to be locked and another diversion to follow where I would need to locate a key on a dead guard, or perhaps a boss fight with some mutant monster. It was almost disappointing.

The room was lightly furnished, in disarray from the shit storm, but the furniture was still in order. A tall shelf with boxes filled with files stood in my path, a few filing cabinets, desks and computers lined the walls. And what purge station wouldn't be complete, without a bloody guard slumped over the terminal? I pulled his chair back and examined the guy.

Murkoff security. What sort of work was he doing before he was caught up in this mess? Was he unemployed? Perhaps he was a good guy, sending money to his family. It was more likely he was in some form of trouble, and Murkoff might've used its influence to clear his record. Lot of good it did him.

There was a button in the center of the terminal, it looked like he had been reaching for it before his sudden death. The man was covered in blood, his skin torn outwards, but no footprints.

What had killed him?

I checked the monitors, revealing areas I had already explored, nothing interesting aside from the few patients that invaded these areas and wallowed about lost and sick. I reevaluated the room, there was a door at the wall that hadn't been opened, but outside was the hall I had just come through. This place was disorientating. I shut it and returned to the terminal.

Activate this, follow the blood. What was I doing with my life?

I gave the dial a pat, reactivating the chamber beyond the glass. The doors open with their sharp rasp and I froze.

Chris Walker slipped his large girth into the chamber. When he saw me, he immediately swung around and began smashing against the plexiglass. Twice, the glass cracked in large stars under the blow, the chains wrapped over his wrists amplified his ferocity. My vision flickered as I felt my heart race. He couldn't get through. That glass was shatter proof!

But I had already spun away.

When Chris began wrecking the view window, the emergency system locked down the room and the chamber. He couldn't get out of there, so he would come into here. I couldn't get out of here so….

The fuckin doors were locked tight. I feared the only one that could get them open at this point was the big fucker, but he wasn't doing me favors. I darted around the desk by the tall shelf as he crashed into the room, snorting and huffing, his gaze dead on me.

Dead. Oh god, I was so dead. I had no way out, in no time he'd catch me, I couldn't run around this room forever. It was hopeless.

No! Not here! There had to be a way out. I had to make a way out, but how? I shuffled around the desk scanning the floors and wall, a sliver of my attention locked on the big fucker as he huffed and mirrored my movements. I imagined a clock in the back of my thoughts as the room filled with smoke, ticking down the seconds I had left to live. There was a way out, just a little more time. Please.

The clock ticked down the seconds to an image of a skull.

He shoved aside the desk separating us, nearly smashing me had I not leapt aside, away from the only thing standing between him and I. "I just wanna help." The desk hit the wall with such force the vent in the ceiling tore off of its screws. In its place was my liberation.

But the big fucker still stood in the way, blocking me with arms outstretched and his murky eyes puncturing my soul. He took a step, then another, gradually picking up speed as I staggered backwards into the terminal. One chance. One stupid, flimsy, irrational chance to take if I wanted to escape with my skin still on my bones.

At the last instant I stooped down scrambling on my feet and hands as he swung out, trying to take my head off. I was up and dashing to the book case, scrambling up the dusty shelves. "We're not done here." My hands slipped and I sprang up catching the vent with my fingers. I was too focused clawing my way in I didn't see Chris approach from below. He snared my ankle, but I kicked throwing his grip off and tore the pants leg as I pulled myself the rest of the way into the vent.

Safe. For the moment. I crashed and bumped through the flue, before I brought out the camera to see exactly where I was headed. Those doors would hold him for no more than a minute, already I could feel the vibrations as he went to work.

I kicked out the vent above the hall and dropped down, the sounds were too close, just around the corner. As I twisted away the door cracked off the frame and skid into the wall. I ran.

Due to my habit of shutting doors behind me, the metal grate in the hall was left shut. I glanced back as I dragged the door open and saw Chris right behind me, I tried to slam it between us but my hand slipped and I just kept going. I could feel his breath at my neck as I ran….

Towards a wall of fire.

I nearly staggered to a halt when I saw the flames, if I moved fast enough I could get through it. Wasn't that where the purge gate was? It didn't matter, I was safer in the fire.

I pulled my collar up to protect my eyes and tucked the camera against my chest. The fire might dissuade Chris, but nothing so far had been able to slow him down.

A sudden explosion and I was screaming as I flew. The gas in the purge chamber, I don't know…I was falling. Again. I saw the orange wisps contrasted against the black surroundings before I hit, I was mostly coherent, a thunderous ringing pulsed in my head as dots flashed along my peripheral. Above, the suspended light swung illuminating the cold gray walls, and bars of another cell block. Oh, it was another cell block. For a moment I was too stunned to move, I watched small shapes contrasted by the fierce light whirl overhead. Buzzing. Insects?

I couldn't get a gasp in as I waited to evaluate whether the fall had shattered my bones or not. Sudden panic streaked through me. Was I paralyzed? Had that done it? But already I was pulling myself up and taking a tight breath, my landing hadn't been as painful as I thought it would be.

And I soon found why.

The smell hit me before the realization. Bodies. Ravaged and in pieces, guts spewing out of backsides, spinal cords ripped out of chests, a pool of dark blood soaking into the concrete. Flies swarmed everywhere, some crawling on my forehead and neck. I gagged and whimpered, picking up my hands from the miasma of rotten swill, my palms black with blood. It looked awful, almost painful. Groaning, I managed to get on my feet as my shoes sunk in the rotted mess, quickly I backed away staring at the mass nearly as high as my thighs.

My camera!

Hesitantly, I moved forward and lifted it off of what looked like liver, or something else decayed into black mush. I quickly backed away, breathing out of my mouth in gasps and tasting the sweet pungent meat. That had hurt, I needed to sit down, I needed…I needed just a moment.

The light flickered and went out. The safety of the dark enveloped me, but my senses still penetrated, still warned me of the dangers. I was nearly fooled that the decomposing bodies were no longer there, but the flies bombarded my face in their search for their kitchen. I backed away pulling up the night vision, and moved to the opposite side of the cell block near a bloodied bed. It was odd, but my nerves were so badly frayed I was seeing odd shadows. A shape above, behind the gate, there and gone when I blinked. I'm sure it was 'Father' Martin, but the explanation felt like a lie that made my flesh crawl.

I just about collapsed over the hard bed, resting one arm on the side for support. I'm not sure if I rested my elbow in the blood or not, I couldn't feel it. I closed my eyes and sat there trying to think, to remember what I was doing. Everything was out of control, was I still on the same mission when I first arrived here?

Nothing had changed, I reminded. Nothing. I needed to survive, I had to get out of here. Someone had to expose this hell. I would find a way to make Murkoff pay for all of this, they went too fucking far. Had to keep my sanity intact.

It felt like inch by inch I was losing focus. Losing control over my life. The longer I stayed, the more unhinged I became. I would either die here, or wish I was dead.

Crackling filled the dark, and I felt the floor quake. Turning my camera up I viewed the NV feed to confirm what I already knew.

Chris Walker was here.

**This is a disclaimer that means no profits are squelched from this artistic fictions stuffs. If they did come out with a legit Outlast novel, I would fuckin read that. Excuse my potty mouth**


	7. Chapter 7

Men in Shadows

This cell block was small, possibly for the more deranged or criminally insane. With this place it was hard to tell, unless there was a sign saying

Criminally Insane

Please Do NOT Feed

I couldn't tell. At this point it didn't matter, the patients were everywhere. The only detail that would make my current location relevant was whether there was a way out of this area. From the pile of corpses I couldn't discern what was once patient, or if they were what remained of the staff. The idea sickened me that they were left stacked like this, I tried to avoid looking at them as I moved around. I didn't want to be here longer than necessary.

This choice wasn't mine. As soon as I spotted the big fucker, I had dashed to the nearest door that would open and ducked inside.

Miraculously the room was clean, aside from the grotesque stench of rot and human waste. I didn't hesitate to huddle under the bed and listen for the telltale sound of snuffling and mutters about protocol. What was it the reports said, his retardation to former military security protocol? For some reason I fell within this parameter.

"I'll make the pain go away." I pushed myself under the bed a little more, until my back was to the wall, and stared at the door.

Worst position I had been in yet. These doors couldn't be unlocked from the inside. If he, for whatever reason decided to shut it, I was doomed. If he found me locked inside, oh god.

The minutes seemed to drag by as I listened. He muttered to himself, sometimes going to his security protocols, the dangers of contamination, then would swing back to the current task. His mind was damaged, but he still revisited the present and his current mission to locate and kill me.

He knew I was here, that was the only reason he remained patrolling the cell block. It seemed the other patients beyond their fixations could lose interest or forget what they were on about, but the big ugly fucker kept on his task until it was done. Scary as hell.

I was using my NV to track his movements, figure out his pattern. For a short span he became enraged and began throwing things, shoving what sounded like solid metal pieces around. Beds, I think. I saw a few frames discarded outside before I hid. I had to get out of here before the door was flung shut.

The battery needed to be changed first, and better right here should the cameras cheerful peep alert him to my position. I made double sure he was nowhere near the door before I slid out from the bed, on my knees and elbows I crawled out listening. His chains rattled beyond the cell as he calmed his rampage, but resumed a casual stroll.

"I'm coming…."

I pressed myself against the doorframe and stared, and listened. He was on the other side of the room beginning to move in my direction, eyes blazing with a fury that could not possibly be attributed by the cameras night vision.

MOVE Miles! Get going!

I kept low and sprint alongside upturned bed frames. I could make out his heavy foot falls, his labored breath as he shortened the distance. My leg bumped an upturned wheelchair arched over a decapitated body. I froze and waited as Chris seemed to pause. When nothing happened for a long, silent, painful moment, I began up the long row of grated stairs. My steps were nearly nonexistent, but I was certain he could imagine my progress. He wasn't fooled.

High overhead the light filtered out through the murky windows hitting the dull wall, but not low enough to compromise my stealth. There was one door to the left where I had envisioned 'Father' Martin's form, but of course it was locked. I gave the handle a gentle rattle before I abandoned it. The big fucker's movement seemed to be getting louder, and his murmurs were more based on how he was going to find me. Restraining my panic, I kept my progress discreet and slow. He was still on the lower floor, he had to find me first. The trick was, not to get caught.

"Little pig, little pig."

What the fuck was with him? Seriously.

Doors and a few crushed wheelchairs had been jammed into the walkway, which shifted and gave some sound as I pole-vaulted over them on my hands. The walkway was lined with that thick chicken wire, along the wall more patient rooms dotted the walls, nothing to bother with. I didn't need to encourage myself to hide at this point. All that would manage would be me getting locked in a room.

There must be a way out. If I pretended that I left, maybe the big fucker would resume his search and smash down another door. I'm sure HE could break these metal gates down.

"Come here, little pig."

I slipped over another bed frame and knelt down, taking pause to try and locate exactly where he was. I couldn't find him on the lower floor, but he might've ducked into one of the open cells. Even if I trapped him in one, he would still smash out. I just needed to stay far from him and everything would be fine.

A segregation point awaited in my path, the door ripped off. One of the two inside might be open, I doubted it though. With the grace of a specter I tried the door before me, then the one to my left. Both were locked, which left the broken opening to my right. I had gone in a big loop around the room with very little to show for it, but I had not seen the end of this path yet.

I still couldn't find where the big fucker was, but it sounded like he was closing in. Where was he? Had he found a way that I had missed? Unless he smashed down a door, this would be impossible without a sound! There was nothing, nothing I could see.

"Little ghost…." That was right next to me.

I turned the camera, and on the other side of a steel gate stood the big fucker. Shocked, I stumbled back as he began smashing at the door. Maybe he couldn't break them down?

But as I watched the metal warped inward, around the latch.

Stupidly, I shot forward just by where the door was folding in, torn from its steel hinges. Chris was calling me to come back. I ran, taking the first open route on my left. Could've been a dead end, I didn't give a damn. I needed that distance behind me.

Ahead was another blockade piled high with beds and furniture, somewhere in the collision I'm sure I spied what looked like a gate. I didn't slow before I shoved my shoulder against the metal frame grunting as I pushed, wedging between broken beds and metal tables. I smashed the side of my brow on the leg of something, but refused to pause as Chris Walker charged up grabbing at the calamity.

Meanwhile, I toppled out the other side falling onto a puddle of filthy water. That was the least of my concerns as I turned back, Chris fought with the metal crammed against the bars of the gate. The more he thrashed and tore at the obstruction, the more it twisted into a cage against the small opening. I dragged myself backwards, not realizing I had dropped the camera as I watched the grinning face with morbid fascination. I dared him, I fuckin dared him to tear down that wall and come after me. I would run again.

"Fuck!" With his anger rebuffed by junk, he pivoted and marched off. Presumably to locate another path to me, or perhaps find someone else that had missed their daily decapitation.

I dropped to my back beside the foul smelling water and panted, dark blots pulsed in my vision and my ribs ached like sharp ice. I had an odd feeling before long, I'd see him again. The sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be.

I didn't bother to wait and let myself settle, there was no safe place in Mount Massive and I couldn't afford to let my guard down at this point. I took up my camera and gave it a look over as I sat up. The red blotches along its side were still there, along with a few new scratches it received somewhere when I was bumbling about. Probably when I fell, which was between cell Block B and Block…wherever the hell I was now. I tried to spit on my damp sleeve and get some of the blood coating its side off, but I was dehydrated. I had been since I awoke in this nightmare, but hadn't had the chance to pause for a drink. Hell, I doubted any of the water lines still worked with the basement flooded as it was.

The puddle of discolored water?

No way. Rotten blood was ten times cleaner than whatever that was.

I gave up on my coat. I had no idea what it looked like on the backside, I didn't want to think about it. The inmates might identify me as one of their own the way I was looking now, I just didn't give a flying fuck anymore.

The path ahead looked 'favorable,' that term was used lightly. Another fallen, but the door across from me and the one on my left were both locked. I might've recognized the door to my left as being one of the gates I had tried while the big fucker was hunting me on the other side, but I was conserving my batteries for the time being and barely noticed the shades beyond the bars. I returned to the previous darkened hall I had passed by, where bed frames and tables had been stacked precariously against a gate resembling an odd fort. I went ahead and crouched on my knees and hand to crawl through the small space left open.

A silhouette jutted out in my face, and I tried to shove myself backwards only to succeed in hitting my shoulder on the table wedged between the walls. I moaned in pain, my bruised arm not taking the action well. Before I progressed the camera was raised, and I glared at the face. He retreated around the side of the bed, and I slunk forward wary of the obvious dangers. I began to doubt that.

Another man curled in on himself, trembling in the dark like a child hiding from the monster. His hand looked mangled, and an assortment of scars decorated his arms and chest. Even as I moved away from his line of sight, he stared forward at nothing but the cold wall. I left him where he was.

The door at the end of the hall looked locked, I bet money it was locked. I won that bet, and returned to a cell door open part way that led into one of the many nightmares buried in the Asylum.

This was where I learned my fate if I was unable to escape. This area by appearance seemed as general as the Asylum went, but that same forbidding that crawled through my veins when first I set eyes on this place had returned. I knew now not to disregard my instincts.

Crumpled on the floor was the security guard, alive earlier this day, dead now. I had seen the tail end of his life as it was ripped clean out from under him. His head, who the hell knew where it went? Some toilet, a shelf, who cares? Blood had pooled around the stump of his shoulders, he no longer had a neck. It went with his head. I glanced at my camera, before I raised it and filmed. I took in the fallen security operative, then zoomed out on the cell blocks in an uproar with activity.

Most still had people in them.

"Are you my friend?"

I jerked away from the bundled up patient as he approached. Once my initial shock wore off I stood and watched as he came closer and stopped, I checked my visor to make certain my shot of him was clear.

I'm not certain how he saw me, his face was wrapped tightly with gauze, maybe he sensed me. I was beginning to believe anything I came up with. I doubted there was much to fear from him, his arms were tangled tightly in his straightjacket. It looked like his most violent action would be to kick the tar out of my shins, but as it was he only stood at arm length and mumbled through his gag/muzzle.

"Silky. You look so silky. Let me just…" I moved away when he tried to approach, and ignored him as I commenced scouting this place. From the looks of it, the other patients I had seen frantically searching for a way out of here had succeeded, I wondered how the big fucker had gotten out with the fort built in the hall. Some of them might have assembled it when he left. That man trembling, had he been one of the ones seeking a way out and given up? I couldn't remember, it was dark and I was suffering from shock.

"I need to tell you a secret."

I didn't know what to make of this Block D. It was by far the largest, with long thick pillars holding up the high walkways and rooms. The lights still worked gleaming off jagged cement cut like teeth, emphasizing on a sort of ancient rot like being trapped within the ribs of some ancient derelict of a monster slain by science. Shadows were near extinct in this area which unsettled me. The room was a symphony of chatter as patients rattled their bars and yapped for help, or screamed nonsensical phrases of lives left behind. I kept my distance as I searched for an alternative way out, somewhere to climb up or crawl through.

Unlike Block B, the cells in Block D were actual jail cells. Thick bars designed to withstand time and abuse, the patients fought their cage but I couldn't decide what few had achieved freedom between those that had been freed. The way the floors above had degraded it was no wonder they were trapped inside. Many of the cells on the ground floor were open, I explored a few doubting the capacity of locating a clue to my whereabouts. They were too foul to linger around and many had been stripped of furniture.

"You! Hey!" I didn't jump back in time, the man had shoved his arm between the bars and caught my coat. "You, you have to let us out of here. These bars, they won't stop the Walrider." I shook my arm, but he held tight. "It'll come for us one by one until we're all gone." A final jerk and he lost his grip, I stumbled away and caught myself by one of the pillars. "Please. For the love of god!" He was still reaching for me shrieking.

Another man in his cell paced back and forth mumbling dates and facts. "What did we bring home? What did we use it for!?"

I ran to the other side where, I couldn't tell exactly, someone was sobbing about the therapy he was forced into. "My family needed money, they said had debts, things to pay…."

My pant leg was ripped up the back of my calf. I leaned down to examine it pretending I couldn't hear the man confessing. The very bottom of my jeans always wore away at the base, where they met the floor. The material on my leg was still intact, it was only noticeable if I pulled at the denim. My main concern was how well it would protect me, my own blood had seeped through the fabric from shallow scraps I hadn't noted in my earlier panic. The stain was nearly impossible to distinguish from the dark smears of—

Back to task. I needed to get out of here. There was a way out the patients used, I wasn't thinking critically enough. How did the lunatics escape? How did they work this out?

Someone, or a few of them, had set up a small collision of beds that were stable enough to climb on. I took it as my best option and crawled up.

"…and there was only one thing I had worth any money."

Briefly I paused glancing over at the doomed soul, before I climbed up.

A foul reek of fecal waste hit me, forcing me to turn away. "Nurse! Nurse! I'm going to need some help getting clean." His voice was heavily suggestive, as he ended with cackles. "Nurse."

Fuck you.

Another locked door, but I checked anyway, couldn't leave no stone unturned. I raised my camera to check my path, there was a lot of debris from the upper floor on the walkway. The next cell I heard sounds that confused me at first, but I reasoned it was better off not knowing. The door was locked, everything was good. I hurried back to the other path.

I just hated this place. It needed to be nuked from orbit, it was the only way to be sure. Just, god damn these people, and the people that assisted in making them more fucked up than they were in the first place. Was that even possible? I don't give a shit, blame Murkoff, blame them for everything, including me stumbling into this nightmare! It was all their fault. End of story.

I wasn't going to note that. Just film whatever and get out with everything I could. My body, my sanity, and most important, my love for living.

But damn!

I turned the corner, another patient rattling his bars and a man in a chair. I paused to examine him, recalling what happens with people in chairs. He wasn't in a wheelchair though.

"One day. I'll be free." I held my breath as he stood and swayed. I should probably not be in his way, let alone be anywhere near him. "You too will see!" He lunged grabbing me by the neck, I held my ground but staggered back with a low gurgle. I couldn't get his grip off, I felt my neck being crushed as a soft bubbling filled my ears.

I released his arms and took his throat in my hands, my vision distorted as I squeezed with everything in me. I envisioned myself wringing a wet rag, trying to get every little drop of water out. Tighter and tighter digging my fingernails in to reinforce my grip and twist all the moisture free. I felt my lips draw back as I grit my teeth tight enough it felt like my skull would shatter.

His grip loosened a little, allowing my mind to clear. I stepped back, my heel hit the bars of the cell behind me and inside the man muttered about sheep and followers. I braced my shoe between the bars and pushed with my fading strength.

The man toppled backwards hitting the rail and plummeted. I collapsed near the path staring over the edge, but I couldn't see where he had fallen. I pulled myself forward and managed to get on my feet, a little wobbly but I'd walk it off. Below, I could see where he had fallen.

"Do you itch? You look like you have an itch."

I didn't have the heart to tell straightjacket, his new friend was dead.

I pressed my forehead down on my cold hands curled over the rail and zoned out, not staring at anything in particular. I let the noises of the patients fade, let everything swarming my head turn gray. I had a sudden attack of nausea but I didn't feel like moving to settle myself, I felt rotten about what I had done. As if this should have some sort of impact on my life and I was letting it roll on by, like water off a ducks back. Incredible, the guy tries to kill me, and I felt bad about throwing him to his death. It was an accident anyway.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and let it out. Just keep moving, don't overthink what I see. Filter. Filter. Healthy thoughts. Sane thoughts.

Was it insane I had to keep reminding myself of this?

Ahead, the path ended but what was left along the wall seemed stable enough. It was a portion of the floor that looped around the block, cracked and fallen due to whatever happened to this place. It looked recent, I wasn't quite certain myself anymore. Murkoff reported one thing, the patients recollected another. I had taken note that there was fewer of Murkoff staff in this area, aside from the guard that might have been hiding here or searching for a way out. Murkoff must have stored the patients in this area and abandoned them before the disaster.

That didn't matter at this point, speculations and theories was my fuel and I was running low. My only concern at this time was the set of bars on that path, and the creature patrolling behind them. Just…don't dawdle, he might not even notice me.

I edged onto the footpath and slinked along, gripping the bars behind me whenever I felt my shoes slip. The gap ahead of me didn't seem too far, a straight jump. I had jumped further in my youth, with more at stake. But the rebar along the side looked cruel, if I hit it with my weight I wouldn't be worried about the many ways I could die.

I braced myself against the bars and leapt—

Missing!

I fell to my feet and tumbled, barely avoiding the shock that traveled through my body. I leaned over trying to work out the pain in my ribs, and rose to my feet.

I went all the way back to that damn ledge, this time pulling my camera out and making sure I knew where I was going. I couldn't hesitate, had to get this done and keep going.

"What's the experiment the dead would perform on the living?" He yelled behind me. "I'll give you a hint. It's still happening. The experiment is still happening!"

I hit the ledge and gripped for dear life, my camera still held in my right hand. I unhooked it and pushed it away before I tried to drag myself up. No stopping, not here.

The fingernail on my left hand had snapped, just below the skin line. It hurt whenever I touched it, or when it brushed something, and deemed a mild nuisance as I traveled. I bit it between my teeth and tore it off, taking a bit of skin in the process. It bled some, and I didn't want to imagine the possible infections I could get roaming the vile surfaces, but survival came first. I wiped it on the inside of my coat where it was mostly clean. After this I was going to get a whole new wardrobe, sentimental value on my coat aside. And shots. Lots antibiotics or whatever.

Once this little crisis was dealt with, I picked up the camera and checked the first set of bars I came upon on my left. Inside was light along with the very helpful phrase Witness written in blood, and a large crimson puddle drying on the floor. It looked fresh, but I didn't care to confirm this. A man was curled up in the blood, quaking under the bed frame. On the wall across from me was the very cryptic message written, it what might have been authentic black Temper paint, He did not Kill his Enemies. I'm not sure what to make of that, I'm pretty sure all these people were not doing much of anything else

It was against my dear wishes to enter his room, but on the desk there was a file that might shed some insight on this mockery of a hospital. More about the Project Walrider? It seemed whenever I flipped through the pages, more questions arose between the blank lines than what were answered among the staffs reports.

_OBITUARY FROM _

__www. /obituaries /obituary .aspx _ ?pa ge=lifestory&pd=17827364905 _

_Rudolf G. Wernicke _

_Dr. Rudolf G. Wernicke, age 90, passed away doing the work he loved on February 28th, 2009. He was born in 1918 in Munich, Germany, and achieved fame in the mathematic and scientific communities for a paper written with early computing pioneer Alan Turing. After a cloudy history with the German war effort, he emigrated to the United States in 1949 with a visa from the State Department. Several decades of government research in Los Almos led to New Mexico, where Dr. Wernicke retired to pursue landscape photography and care for his cats. He came to Colorado shortly after the turn of the millennium to pursue charitable work for the Murkoff Corporation. A statement from the company calls Dr. Wernicke "a true humanitarian with a generous spirit." He leaves no survivors._

I'm sure his history with Germany was cloudy. They couldn't have their "true humanitarian" looking bad before he fractured the minds of a couple dozen mentally disturbed people, and a delusional finger painting 'priest' guy. What a loud of shit.

"We have faith in all the wrong things. And it will destroy us."

I looked from the man beneath the bed, and turned with the file to the foul toilet.

That wouldn't have been very professional, so against my best wishes I left the file on the desk. It would have made me feel better to dump it in that sludge, but if ever there came a day that they might find that file, it had a better chance of being illegible if not soaking up filth.

With a sigh I left the cell, not bothering to shut the door. There was a purge gate a short distance ahead through another segregation gate, but of course it was locked. Might've been the one that doctors head was in, I'll never know. Metal steps from here led to the upper floor, and more aggravated patients hammering at the bars with whatever they could lift.

"It'll stretch until you snap."

And fuck you very much, too. I reeled around the nearest corner and found a dead path, broken completely. Unless I wanted to risk climbing the bars, but there was no guarantee there was any way open on that side. I didn't want to test my bruised arms unless absolutely necessary.

I breezed past the patient, only satisfied he'd probably rot and die in there, but I had nothing to do with that. Camera, night vision, and the comfort that I could see mostly where I was putting my feet. The floor was clear, most of the wreckage had occurred on this floor which would impede my progress. I'd manage though.

Showers. I was supposed to escape through the showers. Or, I was promised there was a way out through the showers. How did I get there from here? They were on the other side, that was my presumption. I needed to find a way through this block, back to them. It felt like I was far off course, I needed to know where I was and where I was going.

As I was passing a set of cells, the patient within opened his door right in front of me. I had to back away or get knocked over the side, this seemed his intention as he stalked towards me, a whirlwind of insanity building in his eyes.

"Don't you look at me like that. Don't you fucking think you're fit to judge me, doctor!"

What the fuck! He swung at me, and I put my arms up protecting my face, and the camera. I shoved it in its pack as I tried to get around him, but he clubbed me in the mouth anyway as I ducked down. "The well was always here, always poisoned."

I dropped to my knee, but managed to stagger by as he tried to kick me. Was there a way out over here?

Just another ledge that looked too short for my feet, but I took it anyway stuffing my heels back between the bars. "Everyone, over here!"

Fuck him. I scooted along the ledge, using my hands more to hold me steady when I repositioned my heels. I fought with my horrible curiosity to look down and imagine what would happen, as my shoes slid against the loose cement. It was all right, I wouldn't let go, just had to keep a firm grip on the bars.

A set of arms thrust over my shoulders, grabbing me around the torso. I gagged and grabbed them, shaking until I had bashed the side of his elbow against the bars. I was free, but falling. Twisting, I managed to snag the bars with a hand and swing about to face my attacker. He punched out, and I was forced to twist away again, this time placing my back to a solid, safe wall.

There was very little left of the wall, and it permitted me into the remains of a room with a desk and bed, and toilet. Not much to film, but it was dark and I found myself relying more and more on my camera. Regardless, it was all evidence to use.

I hadn't really given thought to a lawsuit against Murkoff, even if it were possible. After everything I had seen, everything I had endured, what were they going to give me? Money? Pfft.

There was a small hole knocked into the lower side of the wall, joining it to the next room, but not the one with the psycho that tried to strangle me. I crouched down and peeked inside seeing only a bed and a body under it. I was startled when it cringed away and spoke.

"The doctor told me once, that if you showed a caveman our technology, he would think it was magic. And that if you showed a modern man magic, he would think it was technology."

Another controversy of the reports, and the recollections of the patience. They had to be talking about Dr. Wernicke, but many believed he was still among them. Performing his experiments?

Dates and details of the Obituary and Death certificate conflicted as well. But why? Why cover up his time of death?

Or did he mean another doctor? That was the higher possibility. But so far, I doubted this.

There was no way out of this room, but for a cell door. By the good grace of god it was unlocked, and I shuffled around the broken floor into an open walkway and solid ground. The cells along this level looked as though their doors had been torn off, but there was no one here. I soon saw why.

One room had a light that still worked, I lowered my camera to peer inside along a red streak that had been painted. For me, for them, for us. It didn't matter what I thought anymore. This was some sort of calling, a message to gather. The options were follow and see, or remain and rot.

It looked like a body had been dragged here, and pulled down the hole chiseled out in the floor. I couldn't imagine what had done this work, didn't want to either. I dropped down the hole into a familiar chamber. Tile walls, and grungy cement floor with a red streak indicating my route.

The egress, I think he called it. Down the drain, follow the blood. I turned the camera up toward my path and paused, I wasn't sure but it looked like a shape had moved on the wall beneath the steps.

That one other guy had gone the other way, he might still be down here. Just to be certain I took the camera and fiddled with the options and played back to before the end.

The night vision had caught what looked like a shape, something I had seen before. But I couldn't be sure, it was too obscure and resembled your typical shadow. I exited out and returned it to its regular functions.

I stepped down the steps listening for any sounds, the rumble of thunder came through causing me to pause and wait as the lights dimmed. There was safety in the dark but I needed batteries to implement it fully. At the base of the steps I saw only a crimson pool awaiting on the cracked tile. Smelt like soured water and mildewed gym socks, and bad meat. When I reached the bottom I saw in full the horror left to me. Entrails and a spinal cord ripped apart, looked like somebody mopped the floor with innards. All over the lockers and walls were written the words

Walrider

On one side was a symbol, vaguely reminding me of the atom. Perhaps it meant a similar form, a poison or contamination. Murkoff had called it 'Environment contamination.' I made certain to film everything, the bloody footprints, the God the 'Father' praised, and what he believed was its work.

"_The word "Walrider" is all over this place. Murkoff was running an experiment here called PROJECT WALRIDER, but the patients talk about the Walrider like it's a physical presence. A spirit or demon. Something they found in the mountain. I'd chalk it up to schizophrenic delusion, but I just saw something. Maybe. Maybe it was a glitch in the camera. Or maybe this place is getting to me._"

Yeah, just maybe my coat was beige and had a big blood stain on the back. It was starting to dry, and it smelled almost as bad as this room.

I tried to rationalize what I had seen, it hadn't been clear in the first place. Just a shadow, the egress guy might've been hanging around, or anyone else. Patients were everywhere, they had a habit of showing up where they could do the most harm. Thunder, the lights dimmed from the storm. There was an explanation that I would feel comfortable with, it just needed to sound like more a valid scientific fact rather than coddling bullcrap.

This place was just getting to me.

The showers looked more like a death camp gas chamber. Spouts hung off crooked pipes from the ceiling, and more lockers had been placed at the far end of the dark room. With blood. I saw no handles to turn, water would have been sweet nectar, to clear the taste of blood in my mouth, and a little to clean the camera a bit, but it was not to be.

There was another battery that had fallen from a locker, which I took. I couldn't have too many in this place.

I stood beside the egress staring down into the chiseled cement, attempting to fathom in my scarce knowledge how these people might have managed this. Where would it lead me? Down the drain, it was the only way out. Why? To what purpose? Why the elaborate detour through hell?

To find whatever it was the Father wished me to see? This Walrider? I doubted it. But a part of me felt that this was his Calling for me. Ever since he discovered me in the main lobby, he had orchestrated this all out. My path, the patients, the messages. I was here to see something, and I was seeing too much of it.


	8. Chapter 8

Twisted Warren

Too much had happened in this place, between the time Murkoff had lost control, and the MHS failed to regain control. The patients had gotten free and had ample time on their hands to undertake all manner of hobbies.

I wasn't certain what to make of the large hole chiseled through three feet of solid cement, and rebar. Given there's not a lot to do around this place but come up with creative ways to get around, I gave this one a seven out of ten. I doubted that big ugly fucker would have been amused by a commission for big fuckin holes, he seemed dedicated to his current task of decapitating the former law. I couldn't envision the inmates having the tools for this sort of work, and then using them correctly to remove the cement, but they were just insane, not stupid. There was a difference.

The problem was they were not stupid.

To satisfy my lethal curiosity, I did return to the other side of where I had dropped down, to see if the egress guy was still lurking. I didn't want someone following me, I'd rather know at this point and try to lose them than get a nasty surprise in a dark cramped hole.

There was only a small room, and a door. I tried the handle confirming it was locked, but perhaps earlier it was open and the patient decided to lock it. Didn't matter, my path was charted out. It must've led into a lavatory, or female wash room, there were hand dryers on the wall, a mattress flung on its side, and the more important detail. Sinks.

I tried the dial on one and received a fresh flow of water, its color I couldn't tell due to the night vision but it looked clean and free of sediment. After giving my perimeter a quick look I leaned under the tap and tasted it, first rinsing my mouth out of the reek and copper. The water had a strong metallic quality, I wasn't sure if I should drink it, much as I was advised not to drink the water when visiting another country, but I was dehydrated. I reasoned with myself the lines couldn't all be compromised, and drank just enough to quench my thirst.

There was also the issue of my bloody camera, and my backside, but I felt my jacket was a lost cause and it was cold. In the dark I flushed water on my sleeve and used it to carefully dab the side of the camera until it felt like much of the stickiness was removed. I didn't expect to do a perfect job in the solid black. I also took the time to rinse the blood from my scalp and the back of my leg, then flushed my tender brow.

I felt renewed, not meeting ready but stable enough on my feet to carry me onward. I returned to the other side, squelching over the sticky puddle of blood back to the warrens entrance.

Below looked like an access space, for repairs or maintenance on broken pipes that might be reached through the basement. It might've been installed in the past century if this place was as old as I suspected.

The hole wasn't deep, but there was a passage dug out in the softer earth beneath the crawl space. A small draft crept over my ankles, warmer air spilling into the cool shower. The thick reek of natural gas coupled with moist earth reached my nose as I crouched down and used the night vision to navigate, I really didn't need to get lost under this place.

Though the path seemed straightforward, I was fully aware of how easy it was to get turned around in a short section of black crawlspace. A few of the Outdoor Adventurer columns warned of how inexperienced cavers could get lost in less than twenty feet of cave. One story mentioned a specific case in which a cavern had only a few extending tunnels, but the individuals involved thought only to bring one light source plus their cell phones. As with any adventure destined to fail, the torch had a mishap and the cavers with their cell phones couldn't distinguish between the details of the cave through the poor light source, nor could they call for help. Many would scratch their heads or joke towards their expense, how can you get lost in such a small cave? Few have ever experienced the total silence, the oppressive dark, and the disorientation that comes with confusion, then panic. How easy doubt sets in and turns your instincts against you.

This is why they, like many, didn't live to learn from their error.

Even a few feet into this passage, I could no longer see the light. Not at all. Thick pipes ran in orderly groups into the dark depths, railways of electrical input. My path was carved around a cement pillar, going deeper. My heart thudded harder against my ribs filling my head with a dull pulse of pain. How deep did this go? Would I be able to turn back if I lost my way? I paused to listen in the crushing black, the total silence but for the thunder of my heart and my heavy breath. I had my reservations for traveling deeper, I was terribly fucking lost running everywhere through the Asylums endless maze of halls, but this was fifteen times worse. This was my grave.

I pressed on with no where else to look back on, I fortified my resolve to keep calm and find a way out. There was nothing that could hurt me here, I could hear nothing, no shrieking, no pleas for mercy. Dead silence.

The warmer air would've been a nice change of pace compared to the chilly asylum, but the reek of sludge and compost did not set me to ease. Blood was, as always, my guide through this twisting nightmare. Across the upper portion of the tunnel was a set of pipes, I had to stretch out and slip under them to get through. It opened up a bit and I could stand, more pipes, for gas or water.

As I moved forward it looked like my path came to an end, but the earth shifted under my feet. Looking down, I found a deep hole which I had nearly stumbled into. I dropped down, making sure to evade the bricks on the one side. The stench and heat was in full force at this point and I turned, locating where the bricks had been torn out of a wall.

The sewers beneath the asylum were huge, possibly to redirect the flow of water and alleviate erosion. It wasn't called Mount Massive for the jollies of it. I glanced beyond the ruptured wall, crinkling my nose at the odor. To my right was a light source, but my left was difficult to make out even with the NV. Moisture in the air interfered with the feed.

Satisfied that the path was free of wavering figures, I sloshed into the filthy water of the drainage flow trying not to think about what might be floating in it. The dark tunnel twisted around and after a few feet I could make out the collection of fallen boulders and earth. A cave in, a weakness of some sort in the foundation. This made me uneasy, the tunnels could be subjected to collapse while I was down here, especially with the heavy rainstorm currently hammering the mountain. I didn't bother to get closer should there be an opening I could squeeze through, it wasn't worth it.

The lit tunnel offered two paths, I proceeded through the light, and presumably the path the patients had taken when they came down here. At least I knew there must be a way out, unless they came down here and backtracked out. I doubted that. This was where the blood led me.

No matter how many times I repeated that phrase in my head, it always sounded wrong and insane.

A barricade for flotsam shed some perception on the water levels of these tunnels, if there was a good flood it could reach my hip. I imagined the water was lower but even now the flow rolled over my ankles, I could only be thankful the water temper was tolerable or I'd succumb to hypothermia. The barrier offered little trouble, but a sharp pain in my side. Nice thing, I was growing accustomed to the jolts of pain. Just had to avoid getting thrown out of windows, or kicked in the chest.

An intersecting tunnel came into view, but it was easy to decide which way from here with no detours. My right was completely packed by another cave in, giving me some mild grief if that was my way out. The ruble didn't look fresh but I was no expert on collapses.

The right looked like another dead end from a distance, but as I moved closer I could see the small drainage tunnel in the shallow ditch was open. A strong source of light soaked through a large grate overhead, offered by the upper floors perhaps, I couldn't tell. I stood off to the side of the gaping drain to look up, but the light from above was too bright to view past and make out its origins. I thought I heard someone screaming, it could've been my imagination. The echoing chatter of water spilled along the cobblestone bricks into the ditch below at a high frequency.

As I looked down, I thought I saw a body slumped by a grated drain. It was a body, I crept in close to examine him through the NV feed. He didn't look like one of the patients that had come down earlier, a small relief. He had been dead for some time, his pants and the lower area of his body had absorbed so much water he almost looked fluffy, but it was only skin dissolved and flaking away. I didn't need that thought on my mind, though I had already presumed I would find more bodies in the sewer, I didn't need to see them immediately. What a naïve hope that was.

Returning to my task at hand, I grimaced as I couched low and scooted along the water into the small tunnel. The humid stench was overpowering and the cramped space of the drain had me nearly knelt in the foul water, but I managed to only submerge one knee as I felt along. I tried to bury my face in my collar and hold the camera up so I could see where I was going and not put my knee into something unpleasant. Blood was one thing, it was tolerable.

I tried to keep my hand along the 'dryer' side of the wall, where the tunnel sloped down but wasn't in the water. The cuts along the back of my leg stung like hell and I tried not to envision what sort of bacterial infections I'd come away with. A piece of paper from something got caught on my foot, but I wouldn't mess with that until I could stand. The tunnel ended and I assured myself there was nothing here with me poised just beside the opening to lop my head off, before I shuffled out and stood.

Much of the same met me, no light and pipes suspended along the roof of the tunnel. As I stared through the quivering visor I realized for the first time, I was shaken all over. Not just mild tremors, I could literally not hold myself still as I inspected the open channel over. I wasn't cold, in fact a thin layer of sweat had spread under my coat causing it to stick against my shirt.

I was terrified.

Despite my small reprieve of isolation I was frightened, my nerves frayed. Where was I going? How did I get out of here? What if there was no way out? What if this was where I was meant to die?

Get ahold of yourself. I stepped back and leaned beside the wall and touched the cool brick, feeling the vibrations of the Asylum against my palm. Not gonna die here. I would get out. I would get out with the evidence and reveal this heinous mess to everyone.

I took a small breath through my mouth and stared at the long corridor ahead. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to make that the truth so bad.

The water sloshed over my shoes, and I flipped off the remains of that sheet of paper–

Something flittered into sight ahead. I barely turned my camera up, night vision and everything I could see perfectly, and something glided by in the intersecting tunnel. Looked black, like a shadow, but it was in direct light. Was something there?

I took a few steps back to the tunnel and perched down, checking on my camera. Features, playback, last five minutes. I realized in reviewing the footage that I was breathing hard, I still was. Didn't care.

I paused the feed and stared at what was caught, it wasn't very clear. Just a black shape, it had passed in barely a second and looked almost transparent. It wasn't in the light as I had imagined, the NV had caught it in the dark of the intersecting tunnel. Maybe it was a residual image, the camera had color mishaps since I flew out that window. But…it looked suspended, a good six feet above the ground.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and exhaled. Later I would review the evidence with better equipment, image quality enhancements. And I'd make copies of everything.

First, I had to get out of here. And the only route open to me was ahead, where that shadow was.

I exercised extreme caution as I proceeded forward, listening every few steps for sounds or stopping when I thought I heard something. Carefully I picked my way along the tunnel with my eyes fixed ahead, the camera never picked up another image.

To my right where it must have gone, was a barricade or gap for high water levels. I decided to avoid that path and check elsewhere, give whatever was there now a chance to clear out.

The left side extended a distance, all manner of trash was down here from dissolving files to cardboard boxes. The path took a right path followed brick and on the left a drainage tunnel, grated up. The path took a right and around the corner a light source, and possibly a way out.

I was disappointed to discover it wasn't to be. This was an exit, perhaps some time before, but the ladder set here was completely destroyed. On the floor beneath lay the remains of a human, entrails, rotted limbs, and the ladder. I attempted to lift it up but it was too short. Even pushing some cardboard boxes over helped in no way, they were too soggy from sitting in the wet air. The upper one cracked and folders scattered, patient letters. I'm guessing Murkoff never sent these to the families, and probably forged return notes. A few were stuffed into a file, which I took interest in

"_(Found scrawled in pencil on the back of an admittance form. Handwritting matches samples from patient "Father" MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD.) _

_This God is real. What we've mistaken so long for ghosts, spirits, madness. We were only willfully ignorant. The scales on Saul's eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see. This is the gift of the Walrider. The Gospel of Sand. The greatest sin in the world is willful ignorance of God. To receive a revelation and not spread it to the waiting flock. This place... To stand in the way of salvation is a sin for which there is no punishment too great'._"

For some reason this note caused goosebumps to crawl up my skin. My mind brought back images of the MHS team, throttled and dragged away. What had I seen? What did Father Martin ask? "_Will you see? Can you?_" I still didn't understand, but I felt closer to understanding these mysteries through these sloppy scribbles. Something about these words felt more than deranged delusions. There was a truth.

I left the file and moved around the opposite side of the tunnel, lowering the camera where the lamps overhead still functioned casting deep yellow globs of light to spread over the moist stone. Save batteries, live longer.

A soft tinkling…turned into an aggressive rattle as I passed under a large pipe. I tried to find the source, but it sounded as though it were coming from within the pipe itself. I raised my camera though there was nothing to record, but that sound was eerie, I could see nothing to generate that sort of sound. Like pouring pellets into a bebe rifle.

I left that place and quickly returned to what must have been my route, where the shape had gone? I don't know at this point. Peering through the tight gap I could make note of nothing threatening or otherwise, despite the distance I could tell there were areas where danger could lurk. My progress so far had been quiet.

The barricade was tight, difficult even for me to get through. I grunted as it rubbed on my bad side but I made it. I'm sure there were hundreds of those down here.

The sewer opened up into another tunnel, a huge drainage gutter sat a few feet ahead with a grate over it. To the right was a ladder swallowed up in a flood of murky water with a plaque reading Lower Junction

Fuck that. I'm trying to get out of this place.

A large pipe directed down into the lower area was clearly labeled 'Female ward,' and across from it an identical pipe with the faded words 'Prison ward.' More the reason not to go THAT way. I continued to where some crates had been abandoned, probably filled with replacement parts or materials for the plumbing. The asylum was nearly a city all in itself and required routine maintenance.

This made sense, they had a lot of people here on residence doing the experiments. Probably the higher security clearance guys never went out on a sunny day, couldn't risk them getting hurt or lost.

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel, I stopped near the crates and watched as a shape dropped down at the other end. I stepped back and knelt behind them as he marched forward, struggling to breathe as he always did after the heavy exercise of killing.

The big ugly fucker just wouldn't give it a rest! What was his obsession? Did he just follow me wherever he thought I was, or was it just chance? Maybe he was following the patients, and somehow I was shepherd in with the flock. Didn't change matters, he was here now for whatever reason. Damnit.

He moved towards the middle of the corridor and paused, glanced around as his breathing calmed. Now that I saw him clearly in the light, I could make out details I hadn't been able to pick out on when he threw me out a window.

No. I will never let that go.

His face was indeed mutilated, by himself reports said. I doubt he had sharp items while institutionalized. Was it from the treatment he became so large? Or just bad cardio, the guy ran like a horse. The report also stated he had modified restraints to conform his massive size, and by modified they meant huge chains which he dragged around on his legs and arms. The ones wrapped about his wrists appeared to have restricted his blood flow, I couldn't tell from the distance if his hands still worked, they looked pale and skeletal.

Chris turned and began down a path on my right. I listened to the sound of his chains as they grew soft and distant, with his heavy huffing. At this point I wasn't sure where to go, if I used my camera and zoomed, I could see to the end where he plopped down was grated. One of the tunnels might lead somewhere, someplace where I could climb out of this sewer. This option was more favorably than sitting here waiting for him to find me while I was indecisive about where to go.

I took hesitant steps forward, listening. The sounds bounced around the walls, but I only heard the soft swish of water around my shoes. He entered a tunnel further away on the left, as I moved it I could make out a dark entrance not far from my position on the right.

The tunnel was well lit, it set my nerves to ease but a coil of anxiousness knotted in my throat as I felt exposed. I gave a small whimper unintentionally as I sprang over a flotsam guard when I twisted the wrong way, and I stopped to listen for a few seconds to assure the bug fucker hadn't heard that. As I resumed, the tunnel took a right into shadows and a cool draft, at the end I found a few planks of plywood and another grate drain. And an open door brimming with light.

The room had little to offer. Some shelves stacked with paints and boxes, a few batteries that I could use, lockers, and a large pipe with a valve labeled Prison drain

Apparently I was going into the Lower Junction.

I shut the door behind me and griped the valve tightly and turned. Or tried. My arm ached and my ribs just couldn't take it, a hot streak of pain pulsed in my side. I stepped back and frowned at the valve. Maybe I could trick Chris into turning it, or rig him up to it in some elaborate way.

Or I could stop being a pussy and turn that valve?

I took a few shallow breaths and steeled myself. I was not halfway done with this place, and it wasn't done with me. If I was going to survive this, I would endure a lot more than some cheap shots and…

Crashing out a few windows.

I gripped the valve and braced myself, ignoring the throbbing or the red in my vision. It would turn or so help me.

The valve gave in and wrenched. I turned until it was all the way open, or what I presumed to be open. I panted a bit as I turned and left the room.

Nothing. That was nothing. I could turn valves all day. The pain would subside soon, and I could forget it in favor of more compelling matters.

In the dark tunnel I heard chains drag, and a voice mutter. Two ways to spell dead. Without a thought I pivoted and returned to the room, shutting the door behind me. I stood waiting for a short while before I saw the knob twist. My immediate instinct told me hide in the lockers, but the door was already opening and I was too far to get one open and stuff myself within. I had already moved to the other side, where there was a large space behind the shelves where the light fell short. I squatted in the furthest corner and watched as Chris entered.

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside checking on the lockers. Yes, they were very lovely. He must not have known I was here, he didn't bother opening a one. Then, he turned looking at the shelves where I was hiding. I held my breath and stared at him, directly at him. I thought we made eye contact and my heart stopped, but the big fucker turned smoothly and left the room.

Even when I was certain he was well gone, I couldn't move. It felt like my body was frozen. It took some effort but I managed to adjust my grip on the camera, then raise my arms and took a breath, then another. I felt my mind begin to clear and the images replayed in my mind, Chris turning and his murky eyes dead on me. In reflex I shut my own eyes and listened to the sounds of the sewer, soft hissing in pipes, water trickling down ancient mortar. The tremors were back in full force, but I doubt they ever truly left me. I only forgot they were there.

In some time I had coaxed myself enough to stand and move towards the open door, I wobbled on my feet and caught the frame before I could go charging out to make a thunderous descent on the slick plywood.

The dark was my only ally.

I pushed myself off the doorframe and ventured into the tunnel, jumping at every little sound. The drip of water was incessant, nerve wrecking. I couldn't see where he had gone from the opening of the tunnel, I stood waiting for some sign. The idea that he might've left this area by some way was on my thoughts, but I knew better. If he found a way out, I'd have a way out. But he would exhaust his search first and that could take hours.

There were two large pipes leading into the lower junction, I already drained one. The female drain was located on the left side of the tunnel, the pipe must've run that way.

While the coast was clear, I went ahead to the backside of the tunnel where the big fucker had initially entered from. Maybe there was a way out I missed, a break in the grate.

Another dead end. A dead guard, crumpled and broken, it looked like his legs had been twisted off and the only thing keeping them attached were his blood drenched pants. I spun about when I picked up on the big fuckers approach, and ducked down behind the crates pressing myself into the edge where they met with the curved wall of the tunnel. He was getting closer.

For a tense moment it sounded like he was right on the other side of the crate. My only option was to hold still and pretend I wasn't there. The chains clinked as he moved and sniffed the air, I imagine this smell didn't faze him a whole lot. I was focused on the sleeve over my arm as I held perfectly still, studying the different colors and stains it had acquired.

"Scout the perimeter, then isolate the target."

Eventually he continued on his way, his footfalls and muttering getting faint. I waited a moment certain he took the left tunnel, towards the prison ward. Of any tunnel, I just wanted to relocate and find a better vantage point. Slowly I stood up, and there he was no more than fifteen feet away.

Chris bellowed something unintelligible and charged, sounded like "There you argh!" I bolted, hitting the edge of the wall with my arm and skimmed off heading to the other side of the tunnel. Had to find a place to hide, needed somewhere I can duck into. He was screaming something after me, it was hard to tell between the splashing water and his dragging chains.

I vaulted over a drain guard and took a sharp left, into the dark. No place to duck into, only a few alcoves that heightened my hopes only to crush them. I slowed to toggle the NV and not drop the camera, he was nearly at my back when I picked up pace. I nearly missed the sharp turn to the right, I stumbled when I stepped on a greasy cardboard box but managed to stay upright. Ahead was light, revealing another cave in, but it looked like there was an opening I could squeeze through. I wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but standing around debating wouldn't improve my health either.

The boulders and brick felt sturdy enough as I crammed myself between them, had to get deeper or the big fucker would drag me out. Or rip my arm off in the process.

"Get out 'ere!" Chris was trying to dig me out as I crammed my body deeper. He could topple the mound onto himself for all I cared.

As it was, I was nearly trapped in this alcove. But with a firm shove I dislodged some rock at my feet and was able to slip down and crawl out. It looked like the tunnel did continue down this way, but the cave in extended to that area and effectively blocked this path.

A bent door was lodged in the brick wall a few feet ahead, ripped off the lock by a force of science I didn't wish to meet. The plaque beside it read 'Female drain.' I pushed the door in and peered inside. There wasn't much to note, the room was small and there was no place to hide. A shelf held a few of the paints, and a few boxes had been abandoned here.

I stepped across to the valve and braced myself before attempting to turn it. I coughed a bit as my side tingled, but managed to get the handle to turn on my first try. Small achievements were possible, now if I was able to get out of here.

I couldn't hear him working to dig me out from the other side, or his heavy breathing. He knew I was here and had no place else to go, it was likely he was camped on the other side waiting for me to emerge. He was former military, he could afford to wait hours if necessary without losing focus. If it came down to it, I could dodge him. Or try, it worked but I had a sick feeling he'd remember that trick.

The rocks hadn't shifted at all, I was able to get through with little effort. I listened when nearly clear but picked up on nothing, only the constant drum of water running from the upper grates, and my own breathing. The tunnel was large enough I could get around him if I timed it just right, but I didn't care to test my reflexes against the big fuckers. He was capable of nasty surprises, and the drain gutter was slick and unreliable.

I moved from the narrow space and took in a deep breath, then began to walk along the side of the drainage gutter where the water rolled down. It was impossible to eliminate my movement completely, but I would hear him before he heard me. I raised the camera for the night vision, but the power was getting low. I paused on the corner checking for the clear before I pulled out the dead battery and put in a fresh one.

The sound of churning water caught up to me. I didn't pause as I quickly felt for the slot, and put in the battery before I turned to make a slow retreat. There wouldn't be time to crawl in the gap, especially once I hit the light. I'd need to fake him out. For a moment I thought I had gained some distance, the sound of his steps quieted.

Then I heard the rapid approach of chains. "Little pig…."

I sprint the last stretch to my safety, but never made it. A strangled yelp slipped from me as the back of my collar was snared, I clutched the camera to my stomach as he lifted me off my feet and flung me to the side of the channels drain.

"Just lay there." He stepped over me as I was trying to recover. Had to keep the camera out of the water, without it I was as good as dead! I kicked at the slick bricks, I was dead anyway if he got his hands around my throat. When I twisted my head to see where I was going, I spotted an overlooked tunnel that had a shattered grate. A space Chris couldn't fit.

I kicked at his ankles, throwing myself through the small passage. Chris was still struggling to grip my slick shoes as I clambered inside thrashing in the shallow water until I was nearly soaked, but always making sure I was holding the camera away from the water. I didn't stop there, I flipped over and kept going when I saw that the other side was open and waiting.

With a roar of outrage Chris stalked off, to head me off. He had speed, I was severely limited as I struggled to move without knocking myself unconscious.

I cleared the other side and lunged to my feet, as I heard the water torn apart by his strides not far from my right. I hurtled over the dam and ran, relying completely on the effectiveness of the pipes and the factor that they had finished draining.

"Outer perimeter breached!" A crate flew by my head and shattered on the wall, I didn't hesitate in my race. Couldn't dwell on the effectiveness of his aim either, I just needed to reach that ladder. I shoved the camera into its hoister and practically dove down the ladder as the big fucker caught up to me. "Don't you hear it?"

I glanced up at his fuck grated face, in time to cringe against the ladder when he dropped a crate. It crashed against the sides splinting in two, a piece hitting my shoulder but I barely felt it. I continued down the ladder two and three steps, until I hit the bottom and stumbled away blindly in the dark.

Another crate fell smashing against the floor, the reverberation so close and sudden I felt my head spin. I couldn't see it until I had the NV active and took the time to give the soggy corridor a quick glance. From the ladder I could still hear Chris, snarling at my escape. I'm not sure why he didn't pursue me, it didn't seem impossible. I gave up and accept these matters, and struggled to understand where I was now.

I took a few breathes, wincing at the stale sewage and raw metallic scent. Not far from where I stood was another body of a patient, grotesquely bloated from being in the water for so long. My stomach turned at the soured reek disturbed by the drainage. This place just got better and better.

The heavy sounds of fresh drainage and falling water was tripled here. In the pipes hung algae or liquefied rubbish, I couldn't discern. I only avoided it as I renewed my search, though it didn't matter at this point, I was thoroughly soaked from my fall. I suppose the red stains in my coat had either diluted or washed out completely, and yet I was more of a mess than before. No surprise.

My path was literally straight forward, but I took it slow. I could easily get turned around or something might've crawled down here. I doubted it, as everything in here seemed to be in the advance stages of rot from the recent flood, but this place was full of unpleasant surprises that made you regret letting your guard down.

Much of them didn't make any sense either. I mulled over the thought of what this place might've been like if they didn't use an asylum and crazy people for the experiments.

I took note of a thick pipe overhead which followed the same route open to me. It didn't have access through walls that had the small grated tunnels, but it gave me a direction. I followed it around a sharp corner, and above was another bloated body, the skin around his bare arms slipping off his skeleton, without the water to cushion the buoyancy. I made sure not to step directly under him, as I continued through the sewer. A few crates bobbed in the water as I moved by, a few were marked with Murkoff's faded logo.

More left over plywood, maybe used to board up areas down here where the scientist made their last stand. Maybe a few of them came down here to shelter from the patients, but as of yet I had seen no evidence of this. The wood gave me little trouble, stiff but soggy from its prolonged aquatic existence. Above the pipe made a sharp turn and ended its path at a connecting pipe parallel with the wall. I retreated as a sharp blast of hot steam shot out. Damn pipes were now against me.

I skipped over another broken barrier of wood and boxes scattered in the drainage gutter, before finally coming to a ladder, and my escape. Given, the big fucker hadn't beaten me here somehow and was waiting above for me to poke my head out of the warren. At least there was light above.

As I made my gradual progress up the tall ladder, I occasionally glanced up to my destination. I tried to keep my steps soft, but someone had heard me. They popped their head over the opening from above, curious to who was coming up.

I stopped debating what that might've been. Too normal to be Chris Walker, but all patients were insane murders at this point. A little slower I renewed my climb, unable to hear what the variant above might be planning. It was likely he couldn't see anyone down in the dark depths, but he did hear me. He knew someone was coming.

I tightened my grip on the bars when I peered just over the edge, checking around as much as I could for the person. I was relieved to find myself alone, but I thought I heard voices echoing in the distance. Set to ease but still wary I climbed up onto the grate and kept low, I was certain they coming from somewhere….

"No. I can hear it!" There was a large grate in a tunnel to my left, that the voices echoed down. Did they mean me?

"Somebody—"

"The Walrider!" Guess not. I pulled myself up a little more as shrieks splint the calm, I hung back as a sound came to me similar to crashing water, and a low rumbling. Not rumbling, was it trickling? Or a hissing, as something caught in the air and lashed out. I winced as the howls began.

The voices intensified, as people somewhere shrieked with wild release. I couldn't place what I was hearing, a lifting swell of agony and terror as the multitude came to a crescendo, cracks and tears of bone and flesh and crushed windpipes catching voices midway through their final throes. Somewhere, not far from where I was, people were slaughtered by something they had warned me about.

It couldn't be. The Walrider was a myth, it couldn't exist.

Eventually the anguished cries fell silent, as did the sounds of what had enacted its punishment.


	9. Chapter 9

Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed. It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver. I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I'm not sure what I was waiting for. Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving. Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn't decide which it was. Either I'd stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution. What happened to the person that looked down upon me? The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish. I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn't be discredited. But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this. I really didn't have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn't possibly get lost down here. Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn't want to stay stationary longer than necessary. It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here. It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn't need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it. The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff. The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it. With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded. Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn't seem to help much in preventing cave-ins. At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn't sure if I should retreat now or wait. He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right. The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn't decide if it was 'Father' Martin, or one of his disciples. It didn't sound like him….

"Till all the lambs in the church of god…"

I couldn't make out what he was saying at this distance. He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water. The song was somehow depressing. Maybe because of the 'Father' Martin's Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn't have any ambition to explore that side further. The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body.

A door waited innocently at my backside. I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back. I must've looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

"You don't have to be scared of me. I can tell we're the same. You still know what's real."

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind. This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it. First person to attempt a conversation with me.

"Do you mind if I film you?" I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

"Not at all. Go ahead. I'd actually prefer it." I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely. He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms. But he was fully clothed.

"The doctor's dead, you know that, right? Dr. Wernicke." I nodded. "Died before he even started working here." He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections. "What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients? That's the question."

"I found the obituary."

"Yeah." To me it sounded like he didn't credit this fact too much. "A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he's never been here." He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support. "Doesn't change what he's done."

"But…he's dead, isn't he? It's on file." My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him. He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

"_The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead. One asks me, 'What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?' What is PROJECT WALRIDER?_"

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted. There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might've led to better venues - I couldn't reach it. There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways. I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel. It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now. All the screaming I'd heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water. _What was PROJECT WALRIDER?_ kept ringing through my thoughts. What was the screaming I heard? What happened to those people? It could've been Chris Walker. Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must've misheard them. But I couldn't stop shaking. My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot. I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right. I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate. The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think. I wasn't sure anymore, I could've as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn't want to see what that area had to offer. I didn't want—

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me. I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate. I wasn't satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it. The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it. Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience. The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor. I couldn't tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained. Light was still the enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead. That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in. Or wasn't it? I wasn't sure. But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must've been the chill. The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast. But, no…the sewer was at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further. The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things. I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters. Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera. I couldn't make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention. A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking. Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn't bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor. It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red. It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue. Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me. This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw. I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as they cut up the hindquarters of a hog. This reminded me sharply of that. Those years long ago.

Maybe after this I'd turn vegan. I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter. Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone. A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel. I didn't care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter. The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me. I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars. I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred. The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull. Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes. I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin. Or it could've been the sudden chill locked in the stale air. Couldn't stop here.

Need to keep moving. Had to escape. Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this 'unknown.' I wasn't sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its path of slaughter. Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side. The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about. The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn't sure if I was actually experiencing this. How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter. I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked. Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion. The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone. I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there. The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death. In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area. For a moment I couldn't move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision. My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had. I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power. My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over. This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry. I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible. What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork. I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate. Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes. As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it. Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station. It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness. Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim. The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should. The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars. A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil. Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick. Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant. The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible. I doubted it, but decided not to risk it. Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature. I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was up on a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me. Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease. My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below. When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward. I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards into a set of jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this. My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole. Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me. I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it. I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth. I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place! "The story that breaks these bastards." Weren't those my exact words? Don't quote me on that. Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin' story of the century, and Murkoff's crushing demise. They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn't squinting right. I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself. Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn't need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance. With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped. I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water. It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought. Probably wrong, I wasn't a plumber and I wouldn't tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding. The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking? Maybe I was shrieking and wasn't aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters. In about five minutes it would come back to me. I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn't help at all. I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I'd wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step. I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere. I hated this place. It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area. I decided not to worry about it. There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through. There was no way into them. I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around. The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process. I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out. The next one was full power, good to get me out of here. Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail. It's connector. I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it. A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat. I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here. Good plan. I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn't overthink which way I was facing. If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls. I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently. I also wasn't certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway. One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right. I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view. Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand. When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor. My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals. I didn't feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold. It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient. It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed. The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things. They were lost down here due to 'Father' Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them. Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants. While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it. I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed. And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below. It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn't tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing. I was stunned to find it half done. What was this? I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I'd worry over it later. Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest. Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me. Echo ripples? Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me. I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much. The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat. It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface. There was nothing there, no one in the water. Just…something from the ceiling. Worn brick, or that nasty shit. Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn't trust the stability of some boxes. I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below. I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path. A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack. The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner. A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state. At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad. The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

"_Already weak, cold. It's still bleeding but it doesn't hurt anymore and I almost have quiet. I can't hear the Walrider anymore. Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can't remember the dreams. Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy. Lies. Of course they were lying. It was not therapy. We were sacrificed to conjure a demon. Please, let there be no more dreams. The only hel…._"

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man. One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a 'conjuring.' What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to? Murkoff, or 'Father' Martin. "_Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open"_' What was the therapy he referred to? The mutilation each patient bore? Too many new questions, not enough answers. Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook. My coat wasn't waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe. A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end. I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn't hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough. I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path. Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery. For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well. Might as well use it while things felt calm, I'd have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger. Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something. An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality. Excuses, excuses. I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn't survive much longer. I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel. It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient. I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate. I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire. I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep. It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest. I was going to be a female before the end of this. Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard. My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera. Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides. I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed. I hated that. Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me. Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse. I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound. Someone screaming, most likely. I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk. Bodies floated after some time. Eerie thought right there. I wasn't paying enough attention at the moment, couldn't bring myself to focus on where I was going. A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves.

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position. A few large pillars supported what must've been the upper floor. There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement. Ripples. They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell. Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in. Trying to find what, before it found me. I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker. Down here! Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening. It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from. But it was my only chance. It was more than what I'd found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode. Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway. That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here? Lost? I didn't care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck. I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn't rest until he saw me dead.

"Stacked neatly side by side," he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps. "Too good at what I do." He must've been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors. It kept him distracted and that was good. "Someone's here." Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade. Fuck, what bad timing! I bolted up the steps rather bother with it. Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light. I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would've extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact. The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away. He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me. My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall. I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood. When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag. I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it. Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run. No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away. But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed. Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six. I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

"You had your chance!"

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase. The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip. Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn't have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog. I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them. When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue. Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock. Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl. I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well. A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom. My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way. Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole. Away from danger, away from that wicked monster. I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest. A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell. I probably shouldn't be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn't registering the warning at this time. It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn't me. Fuck that. I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back. His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles. Up. Get up Miles. Walk it up.

I don't really want to. But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground. A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet. Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door. A familiar sort of door, I couldn't recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach it before I dropped. A moment, I needed a moment. Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers. Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up. As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state. I'm not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in? I couldn't sleep here, but I couldn't resist either. I wouldn't sleep. I would not sleep. Wouldn't sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing. I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me. I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

* * *

><p><strong>A massive thanks to all my viewers. Remember if there are inaccuracies or a structure flow that doth not make sense, throw me a bone and I'll gladly change it. I hope to keep you entertained for chapters to come<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

Run Rabbit

The man from the chair closed the door brusquely on my feet, causing me to scrunch up uncomfortably. After I came to, I lay for less than fifteen minutes. I know this because I kept checking the camera, which I still clutched to my chest. Probably not good for it, but it wasn't soaked by my coat which had barely begun to dry while I lay in the dust.

I NEEDED a few minutes to reset, for the throbbing in my side to settle in as the dry air took away the icy coil in my joints. My eyes shut for a few minutes at a time, micro naps. I swore I had slept for hours but when I checked the clock in the visor only minutes had passed, I wasn't concerned with nodding off for an extended length of time, in truth I didn't give a damn. Maybe I didn't care anymore if I sank into a deep slumber and never woke up, giving in to whatever demented plans Mount Massive had for my person. Never waking up was the more pleasant way to end in this place. The way out.

My mind began to clear as my senses tracked the air around me. Strange sounds seeped into my skull, the muffled sobs of a man, hissing pipes, distant shrieks of some lost soul. I felt my body shift and realized I was trying to push myself up, I wasn't fully conscious of this but I was getting up. A rough sigh escaped my throat as I moved, cradling the camera against me as I reached out with my other arm to push against the wall. When I felt I could rise without collapsing, I pulled myself up all the way and took some small steps to get my balance in order. I barely recalled the camera in my hands as I shuffled it between my palms, the functions still worked as I flicked through them assuring that no moisture had gotten through the seams. A few new scraps were visible along its side where I had pressed it down onto the grate when I…collapsed. There was a small gap in my thoughts that felt peculiar, a dark memory with splashes of terrifying images. I shut my eyes and pressed my hand against my face.

Everything from the dark depths felt like a loose blur, even the dull throb in my side was difficult to recall unless I made an effort to remember exactly what had happened. It was painful to turn, I was stiff from lying in the cold dust for that short time, but I pulled my shirt out of the jean band to view the damage. A small patch of skin was already turning a dark maroon and bluish shade, the colors seemed to be spreading. Lovely.

A plate on the wall read Male Ward. This didn't feel like progress, but I suppose it was in some morbid media. This wasn't surviving, more along the lines of delaying the inevitable. Somewhere, I'm not sure if I was hearing things or what but it did sound like soft sobs, but as I concentrated on the noises, they faded. Maybe I was imaging things. I couldn't deny that my thoughts were not working well, my mind felt numbed while simultaneously elevated with the prospect of moving on, an off kilter clash of emotions. I'd go as far to say my filter was busted, everything I was experiencing, what I was thinking….

I had to keep grasp that something was now wrong with me and the only way to fix that was to escape, I could recover from this with time. But right now, time was my enemy.

The air was dry, and felt dusty and thick, I snorted a bit to clear my nose of the grime and turned the corner. A large pipe ran along the upper wall, another water pipe, similar to the one spilling all over the basement. The corridor I currently stood in extended some distance, there was a lot of steam in the air wafting off the surface of warmer pipes. The opposite wall had a passage a few feet down that could lead to another room. I doubted this, the entrance was arched and no door was visible, nor hinges, just shadow within.

Maybe a restroom? I hadn't seen anything close sense the showers, and that was something I needed.

Halfway to the dark opening, a shout crashed throughout the corridor. A hostile, angry and familiar voice. Shit. Hopefully there was room inside, there was no place out here to hide.

This was just as bad as the corridor, a dark passage that went nowhere. I spun back as my new friend ducked into the space, a bar held high in his hand. I staggered away throwing my arm up to fend off the attack, my other hand held the camera which kept me from running into a wall. Somehow, I managed to stumble out of his path through an opening I had missed, I whirled about and ducked the instant before the bar clattered against stone wall where my head had been.

"Get back! BACK!"

I bumped and pushed away from the wall to retreat in what I decided, was a better direction than the other way. As I cleared a thick vapor cloud nothing lay ahead but a solid brick wall, and a plaque I briefly glimpsed as I dashed sideways beneath another archway, then a sharp turn that led through a narrow corridor.

"Stay away!"

I grazed the walls with my elbows as I rushed, trying not to stumble on my feet when they scuffed the sides, my eyes fixed on the large crates coming into view. It looked like I had a path on my left, unless it was blocked. To hell if it was blocked, I'd tear through it.

The pipe glanced my shoulder, enough to topple my balance. My shoulder slammed into the brick wall and I shoved myself away without missing a step, just had to keep on my feet and moving.

It was a rather sharp turn, then barely a step or two, I pushed off a wall that suddenly materialized in my face and bolted right. Long lumber was scattered on the floor, I teetered over to reach a gate blocking the hall. The other guy wasn't as graceful, he had a misstep and fell sideways smashing his face on the wall and tumbled head over heel. As he babbled something about demons in shadows, I tried the door. Locked. Of course it was, that was its only purpose.

There was another archway I had bypassed in my haste. Quietly I moved around a wheelchair and stopped.

A man in a tattered straightjacket sat in the furthest corner, beside the steps I had raced down. I hadn't seen him in the rush, but now in the interlude I could make out…it did sound like he was crying.

I looked from him, to the man lying on the floor with the bleeding head, his eyes bobbed drunkenly. It was probably best if I left it all as it was. I couldn't risk the running guy waking up in a worse mood than he already was, especially if he decided I was the cause. I kinda was, but I didn't ask him to chase me.

My only option was down a spiral corridor, receiving that familiar humid draft with old blood. So much for escaping the sewers.

So much for escape, period.

A plaque met me face to face as I stepped off the steps, labeling the Male Ward with an arrow of guidance. Since when did reaching the Male Ward become my priority? I turned and peered through a large tunnel, its draft intermixed with foul sewage and the musty chill of the asylum. The water was diluted with blood, but it seemed free of the slaughter that had been present in the other channels. Everything was getting flushed out. My unease persisted.

I passed by some boxes of equipment and garbage on my way, a place to duck if I suspected I wasn't alone. A few steps down the tunnel and a figure darted out. I paused, but it looked like another man in a straightjacket, only he was dragging his sleeves after him. He could be dangerous if he got those tatters tightened about my throat, I continued at a slower pace listening as the soggy sleeves grew fainter and fainter.

As I turned the next corner, he sprinted just out of sight into another passage. I turned back to see where he had come from, but there was only the remains of another collapse. He might've dug through, explaining his loose coat, or he had been hiding there. It was possible that I startled him.

That was nice for a change.

The path he had rushed into was bare of working lamps, I needed to take a moment to change out batteries. I felt in my coat pocket, a hard knot forming in my throat. I was all out! To be absolutely certain I fixed the camera in its pack and pulled everything out of my pocket, but there were none. Just my pen, notepad, and that damn granola. I fixed everything in its place and turned out my pockets, knowing damn well if I found one in my coat, it had been soaked to hell. I had a better chance at ruining my camera than anything else.

I froze when my hand brushed the case. My nightvision was low on power, I couldn't change the fact I had wasted the batteries. Carefully I brought up the camera and checked through the visor.

The tunnel banked to my right, with no alternate paths, just the straight tunnel and a large pipe escorting me along the ceiling. It was terrible, I could scarcely make out the obvious surfaces as the light dimmed but I could perceive more than the naked eye. I just needed to be extra cautious and listen. Something was in the air, that sweet and pungent reek of soured meat. Immediately I felt sick to my stomach, maybe with the low visibility I'll bypass whatever's there without knowing it.

At some length I stopped, certain I had heard something. That whooshing…hiss sound. A sharp movement, then screaming echoed through the corridor. With a soft whimper I stepped back, unsure where to go or what was happening. Eventually the noise died away, with a final ear splinting wail and the hall was silent. I had nearly forgotten I wasn't alone. I wondered if I was now?

I had turned the NV off, aware I needed to conserve the cameras power, but mostly afraid I would see something accompanying me in the dark. I let out a shallow breath and resumed my course, forward, to whatever awaited.

I never found the fellow in the jacket. The tunnel came to a dead end with only a high water barricade, which I squeezed through with little effort. After that short break, my side and shoulder felt somewhat better, but still complained when I strained them too much. My leg had stiffened somewhat from where Chris has raked me, sloshing around in the sewers had given some infection no doubt.

That horrible sour reek hit me in full force, and I physically winced from the odor. In the same instant hot steam gushed out from burst pipes in the water systems at my backside, I stepped away receiving an overbearing singe along my upper back. Damn faulty pipes, old building. It felt normal to complain about something so trivial.

A few pipes connected overhead, one shot straight forward along the tunnels ceiling. I followed it, venturing into the dark without the NV due to an apparent light source in close proximity. As with it, the origin of the foul stench.

I wasn't surprised by my findings. I might've actually been concerned if I found nothing, and my mind would have fabricated horrible images to pacify itself. The corridor ended with a large grate, and to my left awaited a door with a glass window. I peered inside and brought up the camera to film the gore. I imagine this was about the worse I had found, worse than the tunnel of blood and ruptured innards.

_"I thought this sewer couldn't smell any worse. Hundred of bodies crammed into a room, thousands of flies. Is this the Priest's "way out?'"_

What had that lone man in the room been trying to write down in his final words? It was, _"…let there be no dreams. The only hel—"_ Was he trying to say, 'The only help.' He could want, to some extent. Or was he stating, 'The only hell. I want.' It could go either way, but I didn't know his past, his history, what he had been through. I only knew he had been dying when he wrote his message, and had ceased to hear the Walrider. Because his therapy wore off.

This couldn't have been the Priest's way out. Or, could it? He was a crazy fanatic believing in something….obviously evil.

With nothing more to note here, I returned to where I entered from. Some steps patiently awaited my attention, with a plate labeled Male Ward mounted to the side. It led up to a spiral stairway twisting into a dry, cool room, or hall. It had no obvious exit, unless I found one. The gate was blocked by beds, metal trollies, and what looked like gurneys.

A metal cabinet sat beside a chute in the floor, that looked traversable. It didn't appear to be too heavy, it was filled with propane tanks. I fixed the camera in its hoister and braced myself on the gritty floor, and pushed. After some effort, and a growl for drive, the heavy cabinet shifted and grated across the sandy floor. I cleared it from the vent enough that I could scoot through without trouble, the sight of splattered blood did not comfort me, neither did the visible legs of the person in the next room.

Another patient, bundled up to his chair. Looked as though someone tore a sheet apart and tied him up in it, then tied that to the chair. He sat there, dazed and unaware of my presence. Why did for some of these people they insisted on covering their faces with any manner of material? He had what could have been smocks at some point, cut up and wrapped over his head and jammed into his mouth. As before, I didn't remover anything. There was usually a good reason to bind a man's mouth in an insane asylum, I just didn't want to think about why.

A pool of blood had gathered under his seat, but it wasn't his. Overhead, in the wooden floor boards was a large crimson shape. As I watched, the light dimmed startling me, but it was only a surge. I didn't need to use my nightvision in a tiny room. I didn't want to be in a dark room with a man muzzled.

I pulled the door open slowly and checked out, panning over the visible corridor and walls before I slipped out and shut the door behind me. Another featureless dim corridor, ruble and debris from boarded up doors lay discarded on the floor, the reek of neglect. A pallet leaned against the wall, and there was another door directly to my left. For the moment, all was quiet aside from the drip of blood within the sealed room.

While it seemed calm, I had to take care of something. Nearly eight hours without a bathroom break, and this place had gone to hell anyway. I still felt the need to justify pissing on a wall. Damnit. There was some privacy in the shadows, I didn't feel like someone was going to stumble upon me and get ideas.

Really, this place could go fuck itself.

I took care of matters. End of story. There was a door not far from where I was, and I think I died a little inside when I opened it.

Blood was on the floor, beneath a broken chair, I turned the NV on the wall and found some inspiring words.

_"The harder I try to escape, the further I get into this god awful place. Like fighting a tar pit. They've been torturing people in the basement, and by method. Written on the wall – "FINGERS FIRST. THEN BALLS. THEN TONGUE." Somebody's managing the torture, instructing them."_

I think this is the epiphany of why I need to keep my mouth shut around the variants. In fact, I could write a whole book about what not do if you're trapped in an insane asylum. For starters – First rule, don't talk to people, they'll eat your tongue out of your throat. Number two, don't mess with them, they hate that and they'll make it clear by murdering your ass. Three, don't be a woman, or any gender, or dead. They will do terrible things to your corpse. Or worse, they won't kill you. And four, everyone is your enemy, even if they sound sane, by now they're not. They're in the insane asylum for a reason, and chances are you'll figure out why in the brief moment before you're dead, or regretting your remaining sanity.

Game over.

I continued down the hall, certain I heard something rubbing against the door that separated me from the trapped man. Ignoring it, I took in my surroundings, first noting a path on my left that led up darkened steps. I passed it to explore what else might be available, batteries I hoped. The hall led through shadows, towards a light spilling from an open room. As I neared my skin ran cold, the cacophony of struggle and banging came from the room. Across the way at the halls end was a door, compromised by boards nailed over its frame. The door had a meshed window, which revealed nothing but another obscure hall. I peered around the frame carefully, wary of the noise. At the rooms far wall stood another large cabinet filled with pipes, braced against the door. It barely budged as someone from the other side hammered away with their body. The door splintered and cracked under the force but held.

On the floor lay a clothed patient, scars up his exposed arms and over his face, some fresh and seeping gray ooze. He was curled tightly near the floors center, quivering. I don't know if he blocked the door, but that seemed most likely the case.

I abandoned the room and backtracked through the corridor, returning to the doorway I had skipped, before whoever tore through and began hunting around. Across from it was the broken gate piled high with tables, a gurney, and beyond this the area I initialed entered through. Good to know I was getting around.

The gate and door that greeted me at the steps end was locked. I tried to force the handle but the bolt was fitted tight, I wouldn't get through unless I could pick a lock. Should've had someone teach me.

Reluctantly I returned downstairs to the room with the door, and the invading guest. I leaned around the frame, but the onslaught had gone cold. The man still lay on the floor in shock, completely unresponsive to my entrance. I walked around quietly, checking the room thoroughly before I dared look at the door. A camera sat near the furthest corner on a table cart, its lens shattered but thank everything it had batteries. Two, which was better than the dead one currently in use. I fumbled to switch them quickly, relieved to find the first good on power.

The door had been silent for some time. No guarantee whoever was on the other side had departed, or that there was any place to go once the door was open.

I put myself between the cabinet and wall, braced myself with one foot then pushed, until the heavy toolshed had been moved enough that the door would swing open. I peered through the crack before I opened it wide and stepped through. I took one last look at the trembling figure on the floor before shutting the door.

The hall to my right ran to a dead end with two locked doors, a few boxes and trash lay discarded along the wall. I attempted to break the glass with a pole I picked up, but it was that shatter proof stuff that you hate when your life is in peril. I didn't want to make a fuss over it either and draw attention to myself, boxed in this way. Seeking an alternate route would be a better use of my energy, and I could always come back. Though there didn't seem to be much on the other side of that dingy glass.

The other end of the hall was nearly identical, a dehydrated mop bucket and its stiff mop leaned against the brick. I wondered where they mopped in this place, the bare cement? Another boarded up door awaited but across from it the plate of a vent had been torn off, and a soft coil of rich spoil met my senses. I leaned over to check before venturing further, it wasn't far to the other side and a good fourth of the room was visible. There were beds and curtains.

I crouched down and shuffled through, I lowered the camera when the reek of stale urine and soured meat blasted me in the face. Where the fuck was I? This was worse than the prison block, as bad or worse than "Feast of Flies."

As I stood up I could see why. My eyes watered, the filth and decay was so strong. The curtains had been drawn around where each bed was situated, I couldn't see the flies yet but I could hear the hum of their wings beat as they fought over their victims. A lone gurney sat near the rooms center, a pile of guts had spilled to the floor beneath, and crusty blood stained the filthy mattress.

I thought I heard someone scream in the distance, but if I listened I could hear weary voices emerge from behind the drapes. Whispers, barely audible over the thousands of flies present.

"Too alive. Too alive…."

I moved across the room, trying to avoid the horrendous wall of stale rot. These people were still alive in here, or somewhere between life and death. A hellish limbo.

"Can't sleep. Wernicke's waiting for me there." Again, the belief that Wernicke was dead somehow, yet still performing his experiments.

Were these people amidst experimentation when the shit storm occurred? Or was the experiment still going on, now, as I stood here? Was it still happening? How long ago since Murkoff's fall? Obscure dates, faulty facts, I doubt even the scientist had kept up with it all.

I set my hand on the curtain of one patient, debating on drawing it back to view what was left behind. It was tempting. But the humane side of me decided no, I couldn't bear it. Instead, I recorded what was available, the disrepair of the room, broken tile, filth stained floors, the hundreds of insects everywhere.

At the back of the room, in a corner was someone that had been dead for a good deal of time. The body spread on a bed with most of the flesh from the legs and abdomen removed, his head missing, what was left of him, an oozing mess of jello and maggots. I looked down as my shoes crunched large roaches, eagerly chewing up the dripping puss. If I wasn't pale at this point, I had to be ghostly by now.

Beside the corpse was a small table, a folder labeled Reports with a few pages spilling out on the surface and onto the floor. I picked up one curious to what this was about.

_PATIENT STATUS REPORT  
>By Rick Trager<em>

_This patient also, unfortunately, didn't make it. I tried my best, but I'm just a doctor, not a miracle-worker. And I'm pretty new to this whole "doctor" thing, so I'm still working out all the kinks._

_Anywhoo—somebody's gotta cut the fat from this PROJECT WALRIDER disaster. We've been bleeding money ever since this thing went tits up on account of that Billy kid. But I've managed to slim back personnel by more than eighty people. Which means short term savings in salary and long term savings in pension and health care costs._

_And I've been figuring out a lot about biology. I was on the fence about it before, but now I can say with absolute certainty that a person can't live without his kidneys. You learn something new everyday._

What the fuck was this? What sort of PHD graduate didn't know basic human biology? You could learn that from Discovery channel.

I didn't like the frivolous undertone of this note. It was all sorts of demented.

I tossed the page back with those on the floor, and gave the room another once over. A set of boarded doors sat near the morbid memo, and through the windows I could view a man sitting – was tied – to a chair. I crossed over to a sink beside a bloodied gurney, a table cart was left near it and ghastly red stains had been cast over the cold gray wall. I avoided a pile of intestines quivering with pestilence below, I just needed to clean some of the grunge from my hands and get a bit of water to wash out the residue. My hands shook under the frigid water of the tap, I rubbed them till the gray water had cleared and gazed a moment more as I lost myself to the repetitive action of washing hands.

The whimpers of men dying, unable to die, wrapped around my senses as I stood watching the water dry on my skin. Smalls cuts had appeared where I had fumbled against sharp metal edges in the dark, little things I missed in my distracted state. It didn't bother me, I was accustomed to this rough treatment. What did bother me was how steady my thoughts had become and how I was still staring at my hands as people around me suffered. I wanted to help them, I wanted to do something and pull them out of this festering wound in hell, this was the whole reason why I came here in the first place. But I was now unsure in what way to pursue this goal. There was no help for these people. There had never been a way to help them in the first place.

After a short argument with my better judgment, I decided to climb up into the open vent above the blood drenched bed.

"No more dreams. No more….."

Thudding along as quietly as I could, I felt my path rather bother with the camera. I was in no hurry, there was also the batteries I was desperate to conserve in future. The thin strands of light spread out in my path and I kicked out the vent, wincing when it clattered against the hard floor below.

I dropped down over a mess of innards, they squished underfoot as I pin wheeled my arms out to regain balance and step off them. I was in the room with the man, in the chair. That was about it, aside from some solid steel cabinets streaked with blood, papers scattered over the floor, along with guts and pieces of people….

The man in the chair gave a loud gasp once he detected my presence and began thrashing, I stepped away fearful he'd break his restraints.

"Meat! Want meat! Want meat! Meat! Meat!" I took another step back, dubious on my next course of action. Sudden thuds came from the direction of the room I had just occupied.

Two patients now struggled with the fortified door, crashing into it with their bodies in an effort to tear it down. They would succeed, and I would be killed.

A way out! To where?

At the rooms side was a large cabinet filled with heavy tools, locked tight. But it was shoved against a door. I launched myself at the box and pushed, shoving with all that was worthwhile in me to get it out of the way so I could flee this room before they smashed through.

The doors crunched, splintered and gave. Just as I moved the container its last inch, I flung the door open and slammed it shut as I stumbled away.

"We'll flank that piece of shit!" "Fuck! Fuck!"

Damn it all, what was this? What had I gotten myself into? I tore through the next room, hall, I'm not sure. Shelves lined the walls, I tried the first door on my left – jammed tight. Didn't bother with it, kept going straight and found another door left ajar.

I barreled into it with my arm, cracking the brittle wood it against the wall so it bounced back. I saw one of the patients nearly at me as I flung the door in his face. A hospital bed was stationed near center of the room, I hurried behind it and flipped it over on its side. I coughed at the sharp pain in my chest, but blocked it as I shoved the flat side up to the door. It thudded and opened an inch but that was the extent, the bed was pinned against it.

"Go 'round!"

I flipped another bed onto it, and spun about to a medical cabinet that had fallen across the door. I wriggled my fingers over the side and pulled it out enough that I could fit my chest between the wall and the obstruction, then shoved the two apart so I could pry the door open just enough to squeeze out.

"There's another door! This way." I paused for an instant to make sure the camera strap over my hand was secure, if I needed it I betted I wouldn't have the chance to fumble with it.

"There he is!"

Fuck me! Fuck this! Fuck them! I twisted around, spying them at a door already tearing at it. Not that way! I sprint in the opposite direction scanning the walls with my eyes, my heart racing. I needed no more incentive, this place was fuckin evil! Nuke it from orbit! Something!

The light through this corridor was bad, but not terrible that needed to risk the camera. The metal bars of a trolley glinted in my path, easily sprint over in my good effort to stay ahead of those psychos. Two doors came into view, the one ahead was way over there, the one at my immediate left looked more inviting.

I swatted the door open and paused, staring at the bloated and gray body torn open on the autopsy table. It was a fleeting moment, a reminder of my fate if I was caught. I swung the door shut at my back and began pushing an equipment cabinet against the door, until I caught sight of the open vent on the far wall.

"Death and taxes! Death and taxes!"

I didn't worry over the bloody footprints that led towards the vent, I threw myself up into it and made the hasty trip to the other side.

"Doctor! Doctor Wernicke!"

I slipped out turning to head right, until the door erupted and a variant crashed out into the opposite wall. I pivoted and stumbled, falling to my hands and knees before I had clawed up to my feet and renewed my pace. They were screaming for the doctor, for Walrider, and every manner of insane thing that seemed to generate their personal hell.

The hall ahead was blocked, crammed with metal shelves and broken beds. In the corner of my eye I noted a cracked doorframe, I skid on the dusty black and white tile as I made the sharp right through what appeared to be an old office. Glass windows made up the walls, they'd hold off kittens I'm sure. Some of the windows were broken, but I doubt it'd slow down barefeet.

I sprang over a crushed desk, the wood gave out and I tumbled, tucking in my arms until I flipped over onto my feet and charged away. A broken bookcase was directly in my path and, to where…I wasn't certain. I did this odd maneuver where I shoved my hands through, and pulled my body the rest of the way and kind of somersaulted, reaching my feet and resumed my sprint unbroken. I heard someone not far behind crash into the bookcase and what remained of its contents plop against the floor.

My path came to a dead end. A large gap between me and presumed safety, only a sheet of plywood bridged a fourth of it. The sudden commotion at my back caused me to jerk around as one of the scarred patients tumbled down from climbing the bookshelf, and hurried at me with what looked like a machete. I bolted, racing to the end of that board and leapt over the black gap.

And fell.

I choked as I hit the edge and skid backwards, a horrible screech came from the camera still in my hand, as my arm ground over the floor. I dug my fingertips into the concrete and dragged myself up.

"You slippery little whore."

I kicked my feet against the rough side until I had my arm braced under me enough to haul my knees over, and scrambled away from the edge. I collapsed, panting. Not so much the exertion, but the stress and the fear. I had barely escaped with my life. That was too close, there was too many of them too outrun and hide from all at once.

I picked myself up and dusted off my coat, it had a bit of mud still stuck to it from the dampness but it was beginning to dry out and crumble away. Probably didn't matter.

It looked like there was a gate here at one point, the metal frame remained - and a floor too. Where had that gone? Was the metal grate along the wall, the floor? This mechanism probably made sense to the staff of the asylum, like the purge chambers. The gap looked deep, but I wasn't interested in finding out how deep.

My body still quaked, I had temporarily eluded my pursuers but the silence and sudden calm unnerved me. Where had they gone? I was paranoid that I'd turn the next corner and run smack into their midst, I couldn't waste time here. I put the camera away fearing the risk of breaking it rather than using it, but if there was an area that I did need it, I reasoned I'd have a chance to reach it before I was located.

I crept to the end of the corridor and heard a racket that chilled me. A door in my path had looked inviting at first, but the abrupt crash and the shriek of commands came through strong. I took one step back…

Dead end, move. RUN!

I sprang forward skimming the corner as I took the hall. The barrier shattered away soon after.

"You can't hide!"

I passed under a section of pipes, through a dark hall and into another segregating of rooms or offices. I skid into the door blocking my path trying the handle, it turned but the door was a stubborn piece of shit. There was no visible reason why it wouldn't open! I whirled about checking my pursues, nearly upon me. On my left was another door boarded up tight, but there was a space left open at the top.

The variant swung at my face with his fist, the instant I ducked down and shot towards the door. I clambered up the boards that would have prevented my access, and slid across the frame to the other side, throwing myself down into a wild dash. The room was some sort of class, or instructional area, I didn't get a good look as I breezed through. The variants were using their weapons to dismantle the door, the screech of strained wood echoed in my skull as I turned the next corner. It was impossible to put enough distance between them and I.

A sharp right and I raced full down the dark hall, staggering when I stepped on some books and papers missed in my panic. I vaulted over a stack of large desks and came upon a door left ajar. I rammed into it with my shoulder and found it to be another dead end. Some sort of transfer, receiver station. A store room for perishable goods and an inactive dumbwaiter. I bolted out back into the dim hall, to the gate at the very end of my path.

It was locked.

"He's got nowhere else to go!"

I examined the area carefully forcing my mind not to panic. The gated door and lock, above there was no place I could climb or squeeze through. This was what I had feared.

My eyes stung as took I step back and gave the gate another look over, I wiped the moisture away but nothing had changed, there was no way around. This can't be it, this can't be the end. I won't accept this!

I spun about and dashed back to the open door and slammed it, just as the variants had caught up. I grabbed the handle and pressed my shoulder into the brittle wood, they were fighting to turn it from the other side and force their way in. I couldn't keep this up for long, though they had a difficult time organizing themselves between forcing the door and bashing it down. I needed to get away from it and search the room, but there was nothing in the immediate area I could use to jam the lock. I doubt it would hold them off for very long, but I needed that time. Just a second, a moment, a breath. I wasn't ready to let it end here!

I was budged off the door as one of the madmen slammed into it, I quickly replaced myself and gripped the handle. My eyes frantically searching the shelves for something solid, even a can of cold gravy I could use to snap the handle off.

"Who's down there? You're not one of them, are you?" I stared at the machine at the other end of the room, suddenly alive and speaking to me. "Quick! Get in the dumbwaiter if you want to live!" I gawked, stupefied as I actually witnessed the little elevator descend into view.

What was this? A prayer answered? My mind playing tricks on me? Was I already dead?

I shook my head to clear the daze and lunged at the lift. The door behind me took little abuse before it splint apart, and the variants came pouring in. I shoved the gate up and crawled inside, just before my leg was grabbed the door snapped down and I held it there just to be certain, until I was raised high out of sight.

"God damnit!" The patient smashed something against the grate, but I was headed up. Very little they could do unless they attacked the key panel, but even then they couldn't reach me. I let out a shaky breath as I tried to wrestle control over my thudding heart, the vibrations pulsed hard on my sore ribs.

This was it, no more sewers, and I had been heading to the top floor to get my bearings straight. From there I would be able to get around and figure out exactly where I was, or find some way out. But I didn't feel the swell of euphoria I had anticipated, something dark clouded the back of my mind and I let it brew there. The reality of my situation began to sink in, as the walls of the elevator seemed to tighten a little more around my shoulders.

Who exactly was my mysterious liberator? A normal person, alive after all the hell that consumed this place? Seemed unlikely, but he sounded sane enough. Fourth rule though, he's insane even if he sounds sane. Trust no one but the dark. Good motto. Kept me alive so far.

The lift traveled up a few more feet before it reached the floor and stopped. I shifted to view the figure that stood beside me as the gate slid open.

"You made the right choice, here, buddy."

* * *

><p><strong>This is a disclaimer to help me sleep better at night. I make no profits, the only profit I'm getting is the pleasure my readers take in having something Oultast to read. It's such a rare thing<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

Too Alive

I'm not sure what sort of face I wore. Somewhere between blank disbelief or utter horror, I didn't register at first what was happening until his fist connected with my head, my bruised brow. The second blow hit somewhere behind my ear, effectively stunning me. Whoever the fuck he was, he was strong. I lost count of how many times he pummeled me before I was soup, spilling out of that idiotwaiter. I was barely conscious as he knelt over me, running his mouth.

"Hey, you're that little shit priest's guy, aren't you? His…witness, or whatever. You must be exhausted. Let's take a break, huh, buddy? The old two martini lunch, have a little confab."

I already decided, I hated this guy.

He pulled me up by the lapels of my coat and flipped my body over his shoulder. Miles. Miles. Focus, wake up. I need to get away from this guy. Have to get out, gotta find that way out and not get killed. MILES!

My eyelids drooped as the world drifted away, my head was pounding and the room was spinning. Or, he was turning before he flopped me down into a hard, uncomfortable chair. I tried to find my limbs, my arms, my legs. What was he doing? He was saying something….

"…heavier than you look. A little cardio wouldn't kill you." My head lolled back and turned uncomfortably on my neck, like a broken spring in a dull mechanism. My jaw slacked, but I managed to clamp my mouth shut. Keep your mouth shut around this guy. If you have to pass out do so slumped forward, I was so muddled in the head I wasn't sure if I could manage that.

What was he doing? "Okay. Here we go. Arms and legs inside the car at all times." He tightened something around my wrists, and when I spun my head to see, I felt my heart skip a beat.

Restraints. He leaned on my knee and gave a light heartened chuckle before he disappeared from sight. Oh god. This was bad. This was indescribably bad.

My head swayed as he gripped the handles of the wheelchair and spun me about. Miles. Get it the fuck together. I need action, response. I was certain I was trying to move, but my body was unresponsive and in pain. I clinched my hand against the hard wristband, and turned my head a little more to view where we were going. The man was quiet for now, only the howl of the storm and the irritating chirp of the wheels reverberated in the background.

I saw a steel countertop, blood, there was always blood. Tall shelves, looked like for stacking something thin or flat. Sinks, pots and pans. Kitchen. I closed my eyes feeling my brain flat line, no, stay awake. Focus. I can get out of this. My head rolled back and I saw pale carpet, the colors looked horrible. Walls burnt and damaged by fighting, or something. The paint badly chipped, made everything look ancient and ugly. Boarded up door, probably locked too. An acrid scent twisted in my nose as I was reacquainted with soured aroma of the asylum all over again, the remaining lights seemed brighter than normal.

My head. Everything was fuzzy, and everywhere all at once. Was I supposed to be here? Dead Murkoff, pools of blood, pieces of people scattered across the floor. A surreal nightmare I couldn't escape. The surviving humans wore a mask, but their minds were fractured by the fiends that had run this place. Something had been waiting for them in the mountains. Was it Father Martin standing behind those bars, or…something else? The Scales on Saul's eyes were fear. Miles. Too deep Miles, I've gone too deep. Please wake up.

I opened one eye to stare at the floor, and turned to check the walls of a glassed in office as the wheelchair rotated and backed up. I was feeling sour in my gut, even when I shut my eyes the world still swirled around. Horrible things nested in my head, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Y'know, I love the mountain air up here at night. You want to head out, take a stroll?" He darted into my line of sight, sideways and nodded toward an open door labeled EXIT in friendly, bright red letters. "Go ahead, I'll wait here."

A stroll did sound really nice, but I wasn't sure how to do that. I opened my other eye and fixed him with a glare. "Go on, run free." As he carried out the E he gestured gaily with his arm. "I'm in no hurry."

He paused and noticed my look, his giddiness died somewhat. But he brushed it off coolly with a small shrug. "No? Alright. Nose to the grind stone, I like that."

I did want to go out, clear my mind. But I couldn't figure out how to get outside from here, it seemed somewhat complicated. My elbow brushed the armrest awkwardly as I shifted, couldn't get my arm free.

"Okay then. Right this way." He drew the wheelchair backwards, and I watched the shapes warp around my eyes. The walls and floor distorted, I whined softly as the large exit became smaller and more distant.

He pulled the wheelchair back into a small room, the doors shut in front of us and he hit a panel.

An elevator Miles. We're in an elevator, going the opposite way of where we need to be. I exhaled a small breath and fought not to cough, that smell of death was following us. Where are we going? I blinked a few times and gently turned my head left and right, just to feel it all settle back into place. We were headed up a few floors, I lost count, too focused on other things.

This guy had a strange apparatus imbedded with his arm, looked like blood was traveling through it. His blood? But why? Given his physique, horrendously gaunt, his skin stretched over muscle and bone, he might have collapsed arties, and this was a bypass. Or, he was giving transfusions. That thought frightened me more than it sickened.

His fingernails were overgrown, and splintered. He was nearly bald, but for the scraggly hair that grew from the back of his skull. His fashion sense consisted of an apron fastened to his front, at least it was something. Though, there was that strange monocle lens over his eye, and the remains of a rotted surgical mask.

Oh shit.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors scraped open. He eased the wheelchair out, over bloodstained tile that had thick red lines identical to wheel tracks. The man kept a steady pace, his casual indifference to his surroundings twisted in my thoughts. I picked up the pained groans of people struggling with chains, and the distant moans. The blood stains grew larger and thicker, with wide patterns across the dull and damaged floor. He was following this trail.

He pushed the wheelchair past stained gurneys that lined the wall, and into a dark corridor where the sounds of anguish grew louder with our approach. We passed through a segregation gate, broken and the door nowhere in sight.

"Kill me….Kill me."

The chair slipped around a corner into a lit corridor, I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. A man tied to his bed made a valiant effort to break his bindings, his voice muffled despite his gaping black mouth.

"Shhhh…shh…shh…shhh! You weren't putting that tongue to any use anyway." I stared at him, and where a long line of decay had chiseled the plastered from the wall. Blood was splattered on it near his face, and a black shape had formed in the mattress under his head. "Truth be told, I was just tired of licking my own stamps."

Light poured from the open double doors in the walls side, he eased through them smoothly into a room of disarray. Some sort of communion hospital room, beds lined the walls while others were shoved across the floor. A few mattresses had been discarded around two large pillars off center of the room. I stared as we continued through, toward a door with blood on the floor, on the walls, and a red mop leaned on the corroded plaster. I groaned through my teeth and turned away, but that was only the beginning. A sloppy handprint had been pressed by the doorframe, and thick black lines led back indicated a struggle in which the doomed was dragged.

That same reek from the dying patient room, stale urine and extensive amounts of old copper and rot. I flinched and jerked at my wrists, trying to curse, but it came out as a stiff murmur.

"Here we are, then." As we entered, I saw bloody shoeprints in the little bit of light. This guy was barefoot.

He spun the chair around and drew me deeper into this black room that smelled of death and pain. He sighed, and said, "Thanks so much for coming by. We'll begin your consultation in a moment," as he spoke he flipped the lights on from somewhere, and I was buried in full view of this horrific place.

Blood splattered walls, thick pools of blood coated the tile floor. Urinals lined the wall… was this a lavatory? He was chopping people up in a restroom! Ragged body pieces were scattered everywhere, to the side stood a small table cart with rusty tools lined out on its surface, behind it sat a pile of moldy arms and splint ribcages. Fat insects scattered under the light. The man, whoever he was, crushed them under his bare feet like they were crisp autumn leaves. "I'll just need a second to wash up and…."

As he trailed off, he reached for my belt undoing the snap and pulled my camera free. "Oh…Home movies!" He posed with the camera, before turning his attention to a large wash basin behind him. "...And it'll give us a chance to talk."

He set MY camera on the edge of a sink. ON the EDGE of a SINK! As he was washing his hands!

Yes, I know, this should be the least of my concerns…. But everything I've gone through, EVERYTHING! Is. On. That. Camera! I didn't cart it through sewers and protect it from naked thugs, to have some wacko carelessly dump it in a sink of WATER while I'm tied up!

Break out of the restraints. If I wriggle hard enough, they would come undone. I wrench one way, then the other feeling the leather cut into my skin. I hissed as I jerked my wrists back hard and….

"You know," As I stared down, his bare feet and that ugly apron came into view. I took a sharp breath and looked him in the face, "I'm a bit worried how much time you've spent with Father Martin." I recoil as he turns away. "I know…" And heads towards the table cart piled with rusted, bloody tools. The one beside rotting human limbs.

"I hope you haven't been letting him confuse you with all his holier-than-thou bible thumping." He began fiddling with the tools, turning one over or picking up the next and examined its jagged edge.

I have come to terms with how severely I am fucked. It's frigid, my coat is almost dry, but the powerful quivers that rip through my body stem from the way he's casually walking over here with that long, jagged-edged blade. My fingers dig harder at the armrest until my nails ache. I need to get out of here, I need to survive….

"No offense to the man, but I sometimes worry he might just be," He set the blade beside my neck, to where I could feel the tiny teeth cut into my skin. I froze staring up into his eyes and felt…an unfamiliar wave of helplessness ripple through me. Oh please... "A little bit….crazy." I wince when he nicks me, and I withdraw from that side, even as he's already returning to the cart.

Halfheartedly I tugged at the restraints, more out of desperation than any attempt to escape. My eyes followed his movements, my mind racing. How fucked was I? I was so fucked. Completely at the mercy of a homicidal sociopath. I couldn't rip my hands free but I wasn't exactly trying, I set my feet on the floor and he glanced my way causing me to set them back on their steps. The wrist straps, I needed to loosen them. Before he slit my throat. All the blood spray on the walls! He was—

"It's understandable, people get scared," he resumed, picking up what was definitely a bone saw. A fuckin big one, too. I swallowed and felt myself choke a bit on my tongue. "They're as likely to turn to God as anything else." He examined it, setting it delicately over his fingers and turning the blade over, before he returned to me. "God died with a gold standard. We're on to more concrete faiths now."

He rested the end of the saw against my upper arm and resumed scrutinizing the blade, as though he had doubts it could cut through the tendons and cartilage of my shoulder. Drool seeped out of the corner of my mouth as I drew my lips back in a grimace. "You have to rob Paul to pay Peter, there is no other way." I clenched my fist tightly, and at this point he took an interest in my hand, lowering the knife. I did not miss the wicked way it glint along the edge. "Murder in its simplest form," he gently touched the underside of my fist, effectively uncoiling my hand and examined it upon his. "But what happens when all the money is gone?" When he removed his hand and returned to the table cart, I clenched my fist once more and stared.

It felt like I made some sort of mistake.

"Well, money becomes a matter of faith." He sort of dumped the bone saw on the table, and went straight for a urinal….

Where a huge set of rusted shears sat, waiting. "And that's what I'm here for." My heart twisted behind my ribs as he drew near, snipping the grungy blades together. "To make you believe."

Oh god.

A soft whimper escaped my throat as I tried to get up and pull my wrist back, but it was locked tight in the restraints. On impulse I struggle to get my feet down on the floor and shove away, but the floor was too slick with fluids. My heels kicked out awkwardly, comically. I seized up as the crazy fucker anchored his weight over my thighs with one knee, and leaned over my arm obscuring my sight. No. No. He's not, he can't! WAIT! He gipped my right hand in his and with the other, he had the shears…he….

FUCKIN CHRIST!

A horrible crunch splint the air, fire surged through my forearm, scorching across my wrist. I gag and howled in pain as the blades cracked the bone, but didn't quite tear through the skin, I don't think. The lights dimmed as my consciousness spun, a sound I'd never heard myself make before spilled from my throat. I felt his weight lift from my legs and I tried to lift my foot, find the floor. It was too much for me as he worked. My senses torn raw, remained locked on my compromised hand. He twisted the shears, but my finger was still attached. IT WAS! I felt it dangle loosely before he tore it off!

I sobbed in pain. My finger! Which one! I couldn't see, couldn't look. I COULDN'T FEEL MY FINGERS!

I turned my head to him, the agony still fresh as my vision dimmed. "You paying attention?" He pulled his arm up and swung out, smashing his bloody palm against my face. "Don't pass out on me, there's still a lot for you to absorb." He snapped the scissors as he practically sat on my lap, and gripped my left hand same as the other. I tried to keep my fist clenched, but his jagged fingernails cut into my skin. He was ripping my hand apart!

NO! NO! YOU FUCKIN PSYCHO—

That grotesque crackle as my bone ruptured, and the flesh, I imagined the flesh ripping as he readjusted my hand. Keep it together Miles. Don't pass out. I'll get through this. I'll survive and I'll see this bastard die. But I felt my resolve diminish, I was barely hanging on as it was.

I choked as my voice caught in my throat, between a sob and groan. I leaned away, trying not to see what he was doing, though I felt the nerves erupt as their devastated ends were ravaged by a pair of blunt scissors. He had a better grip on my hand this time, or I didn't struggle as much. I felt the odd sensation of my finger rubbing over the back of my hand before it was gone. My brain did a weird twist from processing it, and the sudden realization there was this wide gap in my hands where my fingers once held residence. I think it made the pain worse, or made it ignite in a finale as I bent my head back and moaned between my teeth.

My hands were covered in blood, dark rivers carving red paths over my sleeves. I yowled, and another incomprehensibly sound gurgled in the back of my throat. My fingers….

"There," he cooed. "Better now, right?" He turned and strolled aside to collect the table cart, and braced the shears against the handle as he pushed it by. "Do you understand what we achieved here? We made the consumer into the means of productions." I couldn't keep track where he was, somewhere behind me? Everything was fuzzy, dark spots dotted my vision as I felt all the strength spill out of my guts. "This thing is going to sell itself." I barely saw him head out the door, before it slammed shut.

I never saw what he did with my fingers.

ARGH! Hell, damnit all! My voice sounds strangled and sick, I try to get over the fact that I've been mutilated, that my fingers were gone. They were fucking gone. The ecstasy that I was somehow still alive clashed with the trauma, and the pain flared through my forearms. I let out another moan as I stretched my hands out to take in the damage. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. My legs were still pitifully weak and bent askew over the wheelchairs foot rests, where his weight had shoved them down. Water streaked down my cheeks and my stomach knotted. Oh god, my fingers were really gone.

The index on my right hand, and my left hands ring finger. Gone. Where did they go? I attempted to quiet my whimpers, blood was just spilling out of the remaining stumps to mix with the layers of gore already dried on my pants and shoes, most of it spread under me in a thin crimson puddle. I needed to fix that. Had to get out. Had to get free. Shit. Oh god, oh shit.

I jerked at my wrists, grunting as the skin aggravated the raw nerves. Can't stay here, don't want to think about what he does next. Fingers first, then, then….

I jerk at my wrists, the loop was impossible to loosen due to its design. But I could drag my hand back, coated with my blood it was slick enough to slip free. I could do this, I didn't have a choice if I wanted to walk out of here. Nausea swells in me as my hand folded in the loop, the pain in my knuckle and that space in my fingers. I try not to look as I work.

A sharp snap, and one hand rips free, then the other. Free. Gently, I drag my heels over the red puddle and steady my legs to what I can manage in my current state. Then, push up, off the wheelchair without slipping. Everything in my body felt weak, my legs shook so bad I could barely keep my balance. I just lost a lot of blood in the short amount of time, and some psycho just chopped off two nice fingers! That bastard! That psychotic bastard! I would see him die, I would. I swear. For what he did—

Recalling the experience, coupled with the stress, and the overwhelming stench of this foul room. I collapse to my knees and flopped my arms up over the rim of the bloody sink, to keep from dropping to the filthy floor. I try and avoid my pants as I expel the remains of my lunch from hours ago, in a murky mess of bile. I'm not sure if I can stop as I heave up some more, till there's nothing but convulsions wracking my trembling form.

I try to push myself to my feet but this time I can't do it, my body gives out and I slump sideways over the slick tile. I'm barely able to avoid a thick puddle of blood as I crawl back to the wheelchair, the cleanest surface in the room. Gingerly, I slip my hands over the seat and lay my head on my upper arm, I keep my mutilated hands raised while the blood still seeps. My eyes focused on a nearly clean space on the wall as I zone out, I try and spit some of the lingering taste from my lips as my eyelids droop.

I needed to calm down, slow my heart rate. I adjusted my legs under me to keep from pushing the chair away, mostly I wanted to get on my feet and get out of here. He would be back, I doubt he left me for long. But I was uncertain if my legs could carry me. Another wave of nausea cut through me and I lean forward to the best of my ability just in case, but the sensation passed. As I set my head down I noticed dampness on my sleeve, something dark from my face. It took a moment for my mind to conjure up the recollection, he'd slapped me and this was my blood. I lay my head down and let out a slow breath, concentrating on the way the damp coat crinkled over my ribs.

My fingers were gone.

The lights flickered but I barely blinked, I struggled to come to terms with what has happened. I don't want this to affect me, I don't want this to get me killed. I didn't want to die. If I couldn't cope, if I couldn't get on my feet and move, I was dead. He'll find me lounging here and drive those shears through my face, that could be the only outcome. My breath was labored, but I was all right, I kept telling myself this. I lost two fingers, he could have done worse. Most of it was psychological, I couldn't let that wreck me. I could still walk, but I had to get up. I was going to survive, I was going to get out, and I would not die here. Not after I came this far. I would go further if I needed to, on my own feet. I was going to walk out of this place, through those front doors.

My mind cleared more or less, the adrenalin flooding my veins would keep my senses sharp for a short time. If I didn't fuck it up again. I slipped back to my knees and braced my elbows onto the hard seat of the wheelchair, pushing with my arms until I raised off one knee and then the other. It was pathetic, my legs shook under my weight and I nearly fell as the chair slipped backwards but I managed to straighten up. Carefully I spun around and staggered to the bloodied wash basin and lifted my camera off, I winced as the exposed bone on my index finger glanced its side. As soon as I could, I needed to find a place to hide and recover better.

I took some time to temper myself to the fresh wounds and the eerie lacking digits, gently I checked through the cameras features pressing buttons with my middle finger and slipping the strap over my hand. It ached but I had to do this now, there would be no second chances. But the camera and strap would help protect my finger, once I had it on.

I checked the visor of the camera to find of course, it had caught everything. For a second I pondered over what should be done, but I didn't think over it long. Rather go back and see what was recorded, I made the difficult decision, one I may come to regret. I isolated the time segment where…this occurs, and lock it. A small effort to prevent accidental deletion, and to discourage deletion should I change my mind.

This was real. I might need this later.

I filmed a bit of the room, further adjusting myself to the space in my hand and their fresh sensitively to variation in temperature, and touch. The bleeding had lessened considerably but blood still oozed in thick clots. In the worst case scenario, my vulnerable hands would become a hindrance. As it was now, staring at them made my vision foggy and I had to avert my eyes. I doubt I'd find clean bandages and disinfectant, let alone utilize a steady hand in applying said dressings. I vouched to leave them as they were, if I tried cleaning them it would aggravate the wounds and the bleeding needed to stop. This entire facility was contaminated anyway, and I wouldn't be able to flee as effectively if the bandages distracted me.

I took a sharp breath as I recalled what was beyond the door. Everything I had fought to avoid, and I had to keep moving. I had to get out of here while he was content to believe, I was still tied up and delirious with pain. I tried the handle, relieved that it was unlocked, though it caught and I had to jiggle it. I exchanged hands and decided to rely on my left, the 'amputation' was cleaner and I still hand that index finger. My right hand was already swollen and difficult to work.

"Who's there? Is somebody there? Come closer."

A voice drifted from the next room. I pushed the second door open and shut it softly behind me as I scanned the copious shadows. The only source of light was a lamp standing beside a bed, where a body lay in a pool of blood. I navigated between upturned beds, a few broken wheelchairs to the voice as it called out again.

"I'm not a patient. I'm an executive. Just like him." He groaned as he shifted in his restraints. "Like Trager."

He looked no different than the others, mangled and vivisection scars all over his body, he had endured the second phase of basement torture. His head was cradled awkwardly in a cloth sling, and his limbs tied to the beds legs.

"But he got the treatment. He's too alive. Filled with Wernicke's nightmares." I carefully slipped the cameras loop over my hand and raised it to film his confession. "It worked too well. They couldn't control it…." He seemed to notice me, and the camera.

"And you can't control it. Nobody. Nobody! NOBODY!" I backed away towards a set of beds beside the wrecked wall, while he began to thrash at his straps. "He'll find you! He'll kill you! He's coming right now!"

As instant after I jerked my head rather painfully, when a door cracked open and in strolled the Doctor. "TRAAGER! TRAAAAAGERR!"

I dropped down and shuffled under the nearest bed, keeping my camera propped in my hands as the psycho continued his even stride towards the shrieking man.

"Ah. I see what's happening here. You're bored, you want a little attention. Perfectly understandable." He indicated the man with a finger, as though explaining a rudimentary point. "I'm here for you. I'll give you very special attention."

Then plunged the large shears into his stomach. I could actually hear the ribs crinkle under his skin and the soft gurgle of fluid as guts and blood swirled. The executive gave a final shriek as Trager twisted the weapon deeper, then wrenched it free. A thick black puddled formed under the bed, and the man's body went limp, his head still dangled in the sling. Trager departed, from my position I couldn't make out exactly where he was headed. Just in the direction he had appeared from.

A door opened and shut. The silence held for a few seconds. I pulled the camera to my neck and strained to listen, while fighting to ignore the mild ache building in my finger as it pressed into my collar. The soft slap of warm fluid on a puddle slowed.

"Fuck! Fuck! Really? You're gonna walk on ME?" I tightened up into a small ball and shoved myself further back under the beds end. The door rattled as Trager returned to the room, and slapped it shut behind him. "If there is one thing I cannot GOD DAMN stand, it's a quitter! Come on!" Somehow, I managed to curl up into an even smaller ball, with my head tucked under my knees.

"Alright…alright, you can figure this out. Let's…solve this little problem." The echoing rasp of the shears seemed magnified on the walls, as he moved around searching, snipping them every now and then. I winced but relaxed all in the same instant when I realized he hadn't found me, I raised my head to scan what was visible from where I lay and locate where he was.

He navigated the rooms perimeter checking over the broken beds stacked around the pillars, when it was obvious I wouldn't be in plain sight he began stooping down to check under beds.

"All those bureaucrats with their corporate luncheons and golden parachutes. Where are the survivors? Where are the sharks?" He wandered into the half of the room I was in and checked under a bed by the far wall. "I've been chumming the water long enough."

There was a door just beside the bed I was under. While Trager lowered to check under the next bed, I took my chance and climbed out trying the knob.

Locked.

I crawled back under the bed, as Trager raised and sauntered to the next bed. I didn't bother to pause, and continued to the other side still crouched down as I hustled to the next bed. I chided myself for being too noisy, for not keeping low enough. I wanted–

"Hold up there buddy!" Fuck. I launched up to my feet, shoving off the bed post and ran for the large doors. "I'll be right with you!"

I dove out of the room turning, checking with the camera. A dead end of medical tables and shelving. Blocked. We came through here, the trail of blood from the elevator was all over the floor. The way out!

I dashed away, ignoring the patient thrashing in his bed shrieking at my appearance. The noise elevated my anxiety, mind racing, I could scarcely recall my movement as images clashed with the short journey from the elevator. I would be next, I was next. I was in the process of becoming a victim!

My shoes skid on the dried blood as I shot around the corner, the bright doors of the open elevator in full view. Screw this! I was out, so out! I don't give a fuck where Trager was, he couldn't touch me once those doors shut. The outdated lift shifted as I leapt inside and smashed the button without a second glance.

Nothing happened. What was wrong? We had power! What could… I touched the panel with my left hand, there was a thin slot beneath the buttons. For a key most likely.

"Let me sell you the dream!"

"Argh!" I lunged out of the elevator and twisted toward the only available route. There was a gate with large shelving shoved against it, all on the other side. My attention then went to a blood drenched gurney, and the wet vent dripping above it. Without hesitation I sprung up the step, into the small space and dragged myself into the safety of the metal cradle.

I hissed when I adjusted the camera, before I could drop it in the sudden black. The bone sticking out on my index finger amplified every little bump, waves of heat rolled through my traumatized nerves with acute precision. I had to deal with it, if I couldn't do that then I might as well stop running now. I didn't pause as I roughly searched my way along, my free hand twisted sideways against the floor to ease the pain through my knuckles as I entrusted my weight on it. I was more or less leaning forward, anxious to find a way out if that sick freak was able to follow me up. It didn't seem he could. But it did look like someone had tried to escape the same route, with less than successful results.

The next flue was torn out, and I peered down trying to see as much of below as I could, and listened for movement and those shears. Once I felt eased there was nothing living, I slipped down into the hall. Light I recognized gleamed from an obstructed gate, scooting along the wall I glimpsed around the corner into the room with the elevator. There had to be another way out, a set of stairs somewhere. A gondola?

The floor creaked under my steps, it looked to be an older section of the asylum with outdated wood floors with evident gaps between the boards. I gave my perimeter a quick scan, wondering where Trager had disappeared to when I had eluded him. He could have been locked in that room now, unless he was strong enough to push the metal shelf aside. The wheels were stationary, I doubt he'd get the leverage to push it over and aside.

I sat down on the floor with my back to the shelf, and set the camera beside me. In the little light I reevaluated my hands. They looked terrible, and the tremors had yet to diminish but I was probably in shock, or just scared out of my wits. I pressed my palms together and focused on calming my nerves. The asylum made strange sounds behind the walls, the groan of machinery I couldn't comprehend and pipes gurgled. And there was the trademark shriek of a man lost in this insane environment. I felt drained, more than that, there wasn't an accurate description for what I'd call what my body felt. Transparent maybe? It was vague, I felt fragile enough. I was constantly reminded of my mortality via physical and mental abuse, and each time I received the threat the distance I ran from it shortened. I pulled my arms around my sides and sat for a few minutes, examining the area.

A dark corridor loomed directly across from me, but of what I could make out, it might be another dead end. To my left was a long hall with functioning lamps, a few beds stacked along the sides, and a small broken desk. It wasn't frigid as the lower levels had been, but in my damp coat I trembled. I was on the verge of collapse.

"_TRAGER. Sick fucker cut my fingers off. Has tortured and mangled dozens of patients, I watch him murder another one, nothing I can do about it. Talks like a white collar business school douchebag, probably has a set of golf clubs in the trunk of his Audi. I'd bet the rest of my fingers he was Murkoff brass before whatever's infected this place changed him. _

_I want out of this place. I want my fucking fingers back. I want to see Trager die._"

I wrote this with all the conviction I could muster. Though I doubted I'd get my wish, if given the opportunity, and I had a chance - a legitimate chance - I probably would try to murder him. He needed to die, and that's what I wanted.

The page had a few smears of blood and a couple fingerprints despite my efforts, I really didn't bother to clean my remaining fingers before fumbling with it. I carefully slipped these items back into the pocket and zipped it tight. With my nerves smoothed out to some degree, I took up my camera before climbing to my feet and gazed into the lite hallway. My progress was excruciatingly slow, and every shift or sound that reached my ears was mistaken for footfalls or the scrape of grungy shears. I imagined taking a few steps and blinking, and there he would be with that horrible weapon perched neatly behind his back as he waited for my brain to register his presence.

I realized my breath was labored, I tried to calm it but my heart was pounding. It hurt too much to fight it, the anxiety only elevating the red seeping from what remained of my fingers. For some time I stood staring into the hall without a prompt or objective, just waiting for a sound or something to happen, but nothing did. I was on the brink of bolting, if the doctor or any other variant decided to reveal them self. Where was I? I was so fucking lost. It was impossible to focus on a single objective, I couldn't imagine myself moving on.

Yet I did.

The floor gave thunderous creak as I shifted my footing and began forward, through a set of open doors that seemed irrelevant to the layout. Hospitals had a lot of doors, but this wasn't a legitimate hospital. This was the hospital of hell. Another pair were locked on my right, I fooled with the handles a bit shoving with my elbow where the doors met as they seemed flimsy from their age. I crept close to the wall and tried the next set of doors, locked fast. A sudden clatter caused me to pause, but I never figured out what it was or if I'd actually heard something. Maybe just the shadow in my thoughts.

I didn't feel comfortable in full view of the light as I continued, passing two large rooms on the left, each filled with beds and 'hospital' equipment. From the doorway I could view very little with the dim light, but I wanted to save my batteries anyway. The soft voices trickled from the gloom, moans and occasional sobbing. In the second room, abandoned under a bright lamp was what remained of a man lying on a bloodied gurney, his leg bolted into some sort of brace. Blood coated the metal device, spilling down his thigh. A chill ran down my spine, and I turned to the end of the hall where two metal beds had been stacked, the one on top was flipped over with its sharp feet sticking up. On it a few boxes and tools had been piled in.

"Aw, buddy. What are you trying to do?" I whirled about and crouched low, where the hell was he? Where did he come from! "I gave you a chance, didn't I? Didn't old Rick try to give you a hand?" There, concealed by shadows he emerged from the double doors that were previously locked. I slunk backwards biting my lip to withhold a pitiful sound. Oblivious to my shape, he turned the opposite way towards the shelving at the halls end. "I can't help somebody who doesn't want to be helped. You're fired."

I think the big ugly fucker made more sense than him.

I tried to mirror his movements as I slipped through the open door and backed up into the shadows, gaze locked on the golden rectangle the door cast. I stumbled and pivoted when I had backed into a pillar, I used it to steady myself as I stood to shuffle around it. The only light was in the ceiling, shining directly down on the man. What was Trager trying to do? This was nothing more than torture, cruel and pointless. Two bags of blood were suspended beside his bed, they looked old and the contents an ugly chunky black consistency.

The patient gave an inconsolable wail and sat up, struggling with his leg. "If you touch me again I swear to fucking Christ I will murder you with my mind. Just fucking try it. You sick motherfucker! Try it! Try it!"

I had stepped a little closer gawking at him. I couldn't help but feel a massive swell of pity, it was obvious he was hopelessly doomed. Trager would keep performing his oper— Mutilations, until he was dead. I wasn't sure what I could do. Not sure if I wanted to do anything, either.

"Buddy!"

I didn't see where he was coming from, but it sounded like he was directly behind me. I shot past the patient, skidding around his bed as Trager rounded on the other side. We made another lap around before I sprint off toward the back off the room, dragging up the camera to keep from running into the numerous beds scattered about. Nearly all of them were occupied by a patient, chained down in various conditions of mutilation. The sharp bolt of rot hit me hard, informing that some had already expired.

When Trager caught up to me, he slung out the shears nearly catching my head as I ducked sideways over a bed. I tumbled and swept up, leaping over an empty bed and ran for a door on one side of the room. It resembled the one in the first room I escaped which had been locked, but this one snapped open easily.

I jerked the door after me, stumbling away as Trager slammed into it. He gave me a displeased look as he reached down for the handle, I practically dropped my camera in my haste to take it and snap the door out of his grip.

Rather fool around further, Trager lifted the shears and plunged them into the wood, I stumbled back as they pierced two feet before he withdrew them and smashed his bony shoulder against the wood. I took a step back, picked up my camera, and ran.

That wouldn't hold for long.

The connecting room was no bigger, but it was less crowded. With patients, that is. A few lamps were set up by cots, and swarms of roaches and flies hummed over the dried pools of blood and melting piles of innards. My stomach wrenched as the insects crunched under shoe, oh god I hope it was bugs. The sounds at the door had ceased, and I ducked under the nearest bed.

I struggled not to lie directly in a quivering mess of insects, but it was an impossible goal. Several tense minutes wound by, I lay there tormented by the little buggers trying to crawl over me and my face. When I thought Trager had entered, I pulled up the camera. Something was pinching my finger, I looked through the visor to see a large roach camped on my sleeve, and EATING my finger.

"Somebody has to win and somebody has to lose here, I don't make the rules."

Cringing, I flecked the bug away and tucked my free hand against my neck. Trager came from the other doorway, padding along the bloody tiled floor scanning the wary shadows for my form. He snipped the scissors as he rotated, the lamp light caught his monocle making it glimmer like a silver disk, reminiscent to something from one of those sinister characters in a Japanese comic.

I heard something rattle, and turned the camera to view an arm chained at the bed post I was under. Another patient, his hand gripped at the bar as he twitched. I couldn't decide if he was trying to reveal my position, or if he was just struggling to free himself. Trager seemed oblivious to his actions, now focused on checking under beds. The inhospitable nature of my location may have moved it next to last on his checklists of areas to search, or I was just lucky this time.

I slipped away from the insect nest and kept low, buried in shadows as the doctor continued in the other direction to check a patient that looked very dead. The self-absorbed bastard could just be admiring his own work. If he was distracted, all the better. I paused to make sure he wasn't looking my way, then slipped under a halo of light on the floor and out the open doors.

Back in the hall, without incident. I still wasn't any closer to figuring a way out of this area. Let alone where exactly I was. There was the gate in the dark corridor, maybe it was unlocked. I doubted it, but it was the only area left unchecked.

I crept quietly back to the hall, using the NV to see where I was going. There was a hall extending beyond the door a ways out of my cameras range, but the gate was locked. Surprise, surprise. Turning, I thought about the room I began in, beyond the shelf and gate. The key could've been there, but it was evident it could just as easily be anywhere else. Trager had access to it as he did the double doors, it was most likely somewhere safe. But it couldn't be on his person….

The sound of snipping drifted from the hall, and I spun to see Trager coming towards me. I dashed into the dark corridor and tried the boarded door at the far end, though I knew damn well it was pointless. I ducked behind a bed flipped sideways and shut off my camera. I could see the end of the hall and the silhouette of Trager as he appeared, I put one hand over my mouth to smother my breathing. He closed in on my location and I prepared to dash, but he halted a mere few feet away and snipped the shears in aggravation.

"I should have cut his feet first," he sighed, and pivoted. "Amateur move."

I didn't think he saw me, but he could've been fucking with me. No sound flittered from the corridors end, was it possible for him to shut up for a minute? I went ahead and moved, crawling around the overturned bed with the camera clutched in hand. Reaching the shadows edge, I strained to see around while listening for his obnoxious voice. No sign of Trager.

Oh, I did see him down the hall, heading into one of the rooms. Looked like the first one, because there was that bed between the two and he was on my side.

Few options were open to me. While Trager was elsewhere, I stood and braced myself to the metal shelf. Blood was still slick over my palms, I made a small effort to scrub it off on my coat and not risk slipping and ripping my hands up further. That sharp pain rippled up my side as I pushed, like an old friend I'd missed for years. Hm.

I was disappointed by how easily the door swept open, I don't know why. I wasn't feeling too good at the current time, despite my outstanding health. I shut the door and moved past the elevator with its welcoming light. Damn, asylums, and their keys and locked doors. There were too many locked doors in this place, and when they weren't locked there was always something terrible and evil on the other side.

There was nothing in the dark corridors end, only a locked door and a poor man tied to his bed begging me to end his life. I pretended I couldn't understand what he was saying, and I didn't film him either. Revisiting the room where Trager had left me offered nothing, I didn't expect it to either. I was running out of places to search, though desperation was never an excuse for dumb theories.

I had paused in the next room musing over matters while the peace held, and regarded the barred windows with some interest. They were clearly outdated, when compared to the previous section of the asylum I had explored with the Plexiglas and thick chicken wire. It didn't enlighten me to my whereabouts, only that this section was built before 1970 before it was shut down, and Murkoff built the modern sections to suffice the needs of their 'physicians'.

It looked like someone had already tried to tear the thick bars off, or shoot them off. Bullets had punched through the windows accented with thin cracks, the plaster was somewhat crumbling from where they did hit the wall. I gripped the bars in my hands and shook them, but they were locked solid in cement.

A small wood nightstand sat beside the bloodied bed. I ignored the executive as I picked it up and returned to the window. Poised a safe distance back, I heaved the small piece of furniture to smash against the bars. The wood burst into pieces, and the window suffered some minor damage, another hairline crack.

There was an assortment of furniture and beds still piled around the pillars. I selected a small table and threw it against the window, it bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. A piece of plywood was jammed through, tearing out the glass and let the rain pour in with a frigid gale. I went back for a wheelchair, another side table, anything I could lift and throw was driven against the barred window. I took the light from beside the dead patient and tore the cord from the socket it was plugged into, and smashed the lamp it against the bars over and over. When it was in twisted pieces I threw it aside, and stepped up to the window staring into the dark night.

A crack of thunder bellowed forth and the lightening flashed over the asylum's grounds. I wanted out of this place so bad, it hurt somewhere deep in my body. Everything that was me would die here if I couldn't escape this hell. Alone, crumpled in some corner, broken and waiting for death. That would be me, if I stopped running. If everything in me just stopped.

My face felt wet and I recalled the blood that was there. I used my left hand to rub away at the mist but didn't bother to look. I had been in bad situations before, had my life threatened on several occasions. Probably deserved it, too….

But this was impossible. This was incomprehensible. I slipped to my knees as I stared up into the night, the rain cast silver beads into the thin light of the room. That same wave of helplessness crashed through my senses, unfamiliar and strange. I'd never felt this way before. Never in all my life. Was this what it felt like to die? I think so. A few years ago I had been in an accident, hurt so bad I didn't know who the people were that stared down at me screaming questions. I was oblivious at the time, a massive concussion and some hemorrhaging. As everything faded I thought I was dying. I had surrendered to death.

With a twist I realized I had not been dying. I was hurt, confused, but there were people that would not let me die. What was different was my capacity to appreciate my current awareness, and witness myself crumble from the inside out. In a sense I was dying, while I fought to see the end of this. Somehow, I was doing the whole process backwards. I'm pretty sure you weren't meant to do that, which would explain my situation now. I had the sudden urge to throw more furniture against the window, but couldn't find the strength to rise. I wanted to sit here and stare, and think, and enjoy the cool breeze from the outside as it teased my face. There was so much I wanted.

The executive shifted in his restraints. Immediately, my mind cued in on this redundant detail.

The executive was dead.


	12. Chapter 12

The Last Stand

I jerked around as Trager cut the distance between us, his foot falls now audible in his sudden sprint. He raised the shears and jabbed them out. I dove aside, stumbleing as I raced around the bed and the corpse.

"Hey, nobody likes a quitter!" I could hear him tear his weapon free and resume the chase.

Follow the blood. Follow the blood. I reached the open door and slammed it behind me, I didn't stop as I sprint down the hall. Need distance, need to hide someplace. Need time to think.

What did I need to do? That key couldn't be on Trager, the sick fuck had no pockets. I stopped before turning into the last room, and looked at the door stacked with spare beds. It was blocked, but was it locked? Was the reason it was blocked because it couldn't be locked?

I crawled under the table, slipping the camera into its pack before bracing my feet to the grate and gripped the tables legs with my hands. I pulled, pain burning in my side but there was no turning back. I had no time to rethink, no time to lose. Trager was rushing down the hall to meet me, I could hear him!

With enough space behind the beds, I wedged myself between them and the door, then forced it away. Dots pulsed at my vision, until I had enough space to open the door fully.

Against all odds, I took the handle and flung the door wide. As I whipped around, Trager was lunging around the table slinging the blades towards my head. I hauled the door shut as I sprang backwards, falling to my ass as Trager slammed into it with an ear splinting crash, that seemed to make some of the plaster crack off the walls.

"Aren't you a slippery little fucker?" His pause was brief, he unhooked the shears and drew the door back smoothly.

I flipped over and ran. A patient shackled in the hall began shrieking when he saw us fly around the corner. There was a door on my right, but my focus went straight to the halls end where I spotted a shattered vent in the ceiling. A few boxes and a broken wheelchair were stacked beneath, offering my only rung into the thing. I leapt up catching the inner rim in my fingers, I snarled in pain as I dug the wounded digits against the metal, kicking and clawing my way through the opening. I flopped on my side and scooted along, trying to get my body to work and get away from that psycho fucker.

"Oh, come on buddy, we're not done yet."

Fuck you. Go choke on glass.

I fumbled to get my camera out after I knocked the side of my head on the flues side. The vent wasn't chilly, but my coat was moistened from the mist enough to make me uncomfortable. My fingers slipped in the fine dust coating the thing as I shuffled along, but the sounds of Trager had faded. It felt like I was actually getting somewhere, the vent curved and I scooted trembling against the elements, from the effort, and low blood sugar content. I turned the camera off when I reached an opening revealing a soft glow from below, and leaned down staring at the wood floor.

I blinked and thought I saw something. A dark shape, and images from the sewers blew through my mind.

No. Needed to stay focused. What happened down there was staying down there. There had to be a way out of the area, needed to get out of Trager's territory and find out where in the asylum I was. The Male Ward was my only route out of the sewers, but after my escape from the variants I had seen no indication if that's where I did end up.

I dropped down to the floor and paused, listening. No sign of Trager, only the soft patter of rain on glass. It sounded close. Windows would be nearby, I doubt they had a ladder leading down in the unlikely event one was smashed out.

A bathroom was behind me, I inspected the interior before I entered fully and found the usual, per the Asylum. Stalls, urinals, blood stains on the walls and floor, and Walrider written across the shattered mirror along with an vague shadow painted beside it. Below, a bucket of dark blood sat with a head floating in it, the exposed skin black and blue with decay. I barely glanced at it before checking the few stalls, locating nothing I turned to leave.

The hall led into another room in disrepair, beds had been lined towards the back in rows. Three near the windows were occupied by patients sitting up, their limbs shackled down with heavy chains, their wrists bloody and their hands white like bone.

"The Scales on Sauls eyes. The Scales on Sauls eyes…."

On the other end of the room awaited the usual double doors I'd come to expect, this room a near replica to the two I already visited. I judged all the rooms shared the design, as formerly a mental institute for the patients. From what I could tell this section was still in use despite its condemned state, this saved Murkoff expenses over building new areas to 'treat' their patients.

I slipped through one of the doors and shut it behind me. They weren't going anywhere, but I always felt disconcerted leaving a door open behind me. After Martin caught me off guard, I took every opportunity to avoid that situation.

I sighed, and took the left side of the hall. It led down a dark corridor, the NV revealed a few upturned bed frames and a large cabinet fallen across the hall, easy enough to get by.

The drip of water was magnified in the open hall, and when I hopped over the obstacle I found a crimson puddle at the ceiling dripping on the corpse of a clothed man. His face had been brutalized, the skin stretched back revealing a portion of his skull and nasal cavity. The vacant eye sockets seemed to stare deep into my soul, accusing me of interrupting his eternal rest. His body was strewn across the hall, forcing me to step over if I wanted to advance. I couldn't shake it but I felt those empty sockets follow my movement and continue to watch my retreating back as I ventured deeper into the dark. The sensation was eerie and haunting, I felt a tremor climb my spine in my stubbornness to avoid glancing back.

The door at the inevitable end was boarded up, I didn't bother to try the handle and made the return trip. I tried not to look down as I stepped over the broken body, but the sockets still watched, still followed my movement as I retreated from this area. I paused as I heard sounds, and only then did I chance to look over my shoulder but refused to meet the skulls gaze. There was nothing, not even a corpse.

At the other end of the corridor there wasn't much to enlighten me, just a filing cabinet and some medical equipment jammed between the walls. A small office was situated on my left, where a phone hummed its dial tone. I crawled inside not paying mind to the details, billboards on the walls were pinned with notices, files hid the floors with pages of muggy notes. Some of the pages had oddly familiar hand writing detailing how unsightly Mount Massive was, and a few mentioned the big ugly fucker. My skin began to crawl and if I paused to listen hard enough, I thought I heard the rattles in the pipes.

It made me uneasy to stand here, listening to the false sound. I stepped through a cracked door and made my gradual way down this short hall to another set of double doors. One was left ajar, and I peeked through the crack and listened for Rick Trager. There was no sound of his shears, no footsteps. I had no idea where he was, but he wasn't here. If he was, he'd make himself known with a friendly tone and run my way, and I would repay in kind by darting the other way.

When I had rushed through the gate, I had not gotten a good view of one room that had been on my right. It was unlikely Trager would be in that area, he would be looking for me where he decided I would have gone. He had to suspect I'd eventually return to this side, where the elevator was located. But he couldn't know which rooms the flues opened into, the vent interiors were segregated with reinforced wiring that prevented patients from getting lost inside them.

The sound of shears snipped, but I saw no sign of Trager, or where the sound had come from. I reasoned that it was just the patient with his leg restraint, the shackles also sounded like the metal scissors when shifted. Numerous patients within the room continued to fight their restraints, I strained my eyes to see them at the far end. It sounded too much like the friction of rusted blades.

Without further debate I hopped over the bed I had pushed back, and entered the next corridor. The patient that had shrieked when we ran by, now had a large red hole in his lower abdomen. Blood spilled into a puddle on the floor, but his eyes watched as I walked by. He took shallow breaths, unable to do a thing until his body succumbed to blood loss.

There was nothing I could do but leave him, the door was a few feet from where he lay. It was a shower room, broken tile and dirt everywhere, lockers and sinks lined the walls and at the side were the stalls. The key to the elevator could be in one of these, it was well out of mind and difficult to reach. Though at the time I wasn't really focused on how Trager would have dropped it off here, he seemed to have access to most the rooms in these parts.

I began going through checking each locker, the larger ones first since there were less of them, then moved to the smaller ones. Each compartment contained very little, a few pairs of shirts dank with dust and mold, some expired snacks and a pair of shoes from an era beyond my time when word first got out the place was shutting down in seventy-one. I was also keeping an eye out for a spare medical kit, but no luck in that matter either. Everything had been against me tonight.

The task began to feel redundant, and I was beginning to rethink this. The key had to be elsewhere, but if not here then where? Or maybe I should have reasoned in the first place, what would possess a sociopath to hide a key in a locker room far from his territory? I had no excuse for my desperation, only disappointment. I'd go back and revisit the other rooms, I missed something and I would tear the walls apart if I had to.

The snip-snipping of shears came from the shut door, before I had the chance to finish searching all the small cubbies. I shut a few of the large ones and climbed in one as the door creaked open, I pulled the locker shut and huddled down.

"Always want results, right from the get go. These things take time, I always tell them," Trager murmured, as he began going down the row opening lockers. "They just don't pay attention, you have to cut their eyelids off first."

When he was near my locker and opened the one beside it, I threw the door open with a loud clang and flew out.

"Buddy!" Trager was quick though, and swung the shears up as I ducked barely missing my nape. "Hold up a second!"

The door was left wide open, preventing me from snagging the edge as I skid out. Trager was right behind me lashing with his weapon, smashing my bad arm. My vision flashed harshly as I staggered sideways, skimming off the hard wall and swept around the corner headed for the door.

When I was a few steps from it a sharp pain connected with the back of my head. It was instantaneous, I had a momentary lapse in motor functions as I tried to keep my legs mobile towards the door. It jerked out of sight as a thin arm wrapped across my chest and snapped me backwards, coupled with an unnerving sensation that swam through my torso. A large obstruction snapped my ribs apart and ripped through my lungs, my breath hitched as my innards churned to a halt. I looked down as hot fluid spilled down my stomach, and met sight with a thin pair of knives jammed through my chest. My hand trembled as I tried to reach up and touch it, make sure that this was real. That what my failing sight had fixed on was indeed there. I hardly felt any pain but for a scorching sensation spreading up my neck.

What happened?

When I took a shallow breath I immediately gaged, vomiting up the hot fluid. Only then did my chest burst with agony as the shears jerked free, and everything they had torn loose was all but dragged out after them. I collapsed on my back as the room spun further and further away. Trager knelt over me saying something about Billy.

Then the black salvaged my sanity.


	13. Chapter 13

To See

There was only black and I began to wonder if this was death. Was this the great beyond scholars and science speculated when the brain finally died, when the soul departed the body? Penetrating and encompassing black? Was this eternity?

Then I coughed, and felt the dull ache in my side. Everything in me ached. I was hurt, but I wasn't dead. My senses trickled in little by little, I could pick up the stagnant veil of this place, the cold digging into my skin - though my arms felt warm crushed and numb under me. Couldn't feel my hands, didn't care about that. I tried opening my eyes and saw only black. Typical. And I was laying on top of that camera again.

It was a requisite. Car keys, a cell phone, a nice pocket knife, you nod of with one of them in your pocket, it will dig into your side. Damn camera was bigger than those, I was going to wreck the NV sooner or later. I could cart it through sewers, keep lunatics with clubs from smashing it, but sleep on it and it's all over.

I feel asleep? How?

I didn't bother to figure this out, or try and get of the cold vent. It was quiet and I needed a few seconds to get my bearings, and make certain that I was awake this time. The nightmare had shaken me, I still felt those shears in my chest and the blood spilling from the wound. How unsettling to dream about my own death in this place. Made everything feel ten times more dangerous than it already was, if I touched the walls they'd scorch my hands. Same thing happens whenever I see a rattlesnake, suddenly every bush and every rock has one.

Grunting, I turn over getting off my poor camera and let the cold work its way into my coat, the thin metal buckled as my weight was redistributed. I felt a little better, more so than that crappy fifteen minute break before I stumbled into the basement. I pulled my camera up onto my chest and stopped the recording, in order to wind it back to where I stopped. I guess when I was crawling to the edge of the vent toward the light I just passed out. Probably needed it, I'm just damn thankful I didn't keel over while I was still at the opening or when Trager was….

That damn psycho. I had nearly forgotten him. Couldn't outrun him in my nightmares.

I couldn't bear to view the footage. The way the hoister was designed would still allow the cameras eye to record, idea for when security got involved and ordered me to put it away. The picture was not always the best, but it'd catch the more obvious actions and conversations. I put my hand over the speaker feed as my voice came through, panicked and pitiful. Sounded like a different man.

An hour and fifteen minutes. Felt longer in the dream, felt like I had dreamed something else after it. Something worse than death, either of which I didn't care to remember. While I was MIA Trager could have lost interest in me and found someone else to cut up. Maybe Father Martin. Now that was praying to god.

Getting out of the vent was tricky, after my muscles had relaxed in the cramped space. I lowered myself carefully over the edge, bracing with one arm to relieve some of the pressure in my sore hands before I dropped, then limped off the resulting shock. I staggered into the nearby lavatory and gave the area a hasty scan. No sounds to suggest Trager was near, or anyone for that matter. Just the soft patter of rain on glass.

What an odd sense of Deja'vu.

At least the walls weren't covered in blood, and there was no bucket full of severed head. It had all seemed so real, so vivid. No surprise, I had great source material. This place could still fuck itself though.

I checked the stalls before I gave pause, nothing was contained in them, not even severed limbs. The janitorial closet did have a small table cart with files spilling over it, the pages covered in a fine silt made apparent as I shuffled them around. I pulled out a few to view and shut the main door to the room, before settling near the shattered mirrors.

Male ward. Check. I didn't think I would be using the bathroom for a while, fuck you very much psycho doctor. Sinks lined one wall and they did work. Carefully, I washed the blood from my hands and around the ragged digits, but I didn't mess with the injured area too much. I would be going through hell to keep the scabs, let alone the surface from getting more ripped up than it already was. I poked a bit more at the index finger where the bone was exposed, a little amazed at how the minimal pressure didn't bother too much. A translucent skin still coated the bone's surface and I could make out….uh veins….

The granola was still in my coat. I don't know if it was safe to eat, but it was still sealed. I fished it out of the breast pocket and inspected it, there was a bit of blood and some dirt smudged on it, from whenever I dug around for the notepad. The label didn't do its contents justice, promoting high fiber in a balanced diet. I needed sugar in my blood and this little thing was better than some overpriced dinner.

I rinsed it and shook most the water off, then gingerly took the edge of the package in the thumb and middle finger of my right hand, as I pinched it normally with the left. It was easier than I anticipated to pull the wrapper apart, but the bar was a little melted and impossible to get out whole. I ate what I could and drank some water, a lot of water. Then got up, moved around a bit, jumping and springing back and forth, and prepared myself for what may come.

I went ahead and recorded some of the files I had picked up, nothing relevant to the Project Walrider, but there was an interesting Request notice.

_From: David Annapurna _

_To: _

_Subject: Request for Reassignment _

_To Whom it May Concern, _

_This is my third asking for reassignment after two months without an answer. I don't want to work at Mount Massive any more. I have been an orderly my entire adult life, but have never experience such a consistent level of secrecy and disrespect. I even have suspicions that some of the patients may be being abused. I know personally two of them who have been moved to the basement ward and never returned. If I don't get an answer to this email, I will be forced to resign, and my very well consider contacting the press. Thanks for your time. _

_David Annapurna_

I said the name aloud then looked through the files for anymore emails or reports that related to this. David Annapurna. I couldn't say I ever heard the name before, but he mentioned the press. Was this my contact? Why the fuck didn't he warn me about this place?!

Well, he wasn't high clearance. That was a pissy excuse. He could've at least alerted me to the nature of some of these people? Don't note, "They have massive anger issues," when the fucker throws people out of windows! Put down, "He's fuckin scary and he'll eat children! Hope you have a pilot's license."

Have you also met or local physician in practice? He likes to cut off fingers, and tongues, and peoples balls off! By the end of this, you'll no longer have grievances for cold water.

Good god, I needed to get out of here.

The door gave me some trouble, the knob stuck and my palms had fresh lines of blood. I managed to force it with little sound and stepped into the connecting hall. Still no sign of Trager, and anything living for that matter. I was running on borrowed time, sooner or later I'd get a nasty surprise. The next door gave no trouble, and the room beyond looked deserted. Beds had been left at the back near the barred windows, I almost expected to see patients chained to them but they were void of life. The room felt colder than those that held the doomed people, but I attributed that with the lack of electricity.

Even the light at the front of the room felt cold.

I walked around the beds but found nothing that stood out from the usual, some files to record but nothing noteworthy. The ominous doors loomed at the end of the room, and I stood before them studying the dry kindling that comprised their matter, the gray tone adopted after years of neglect. I inhaled slowly and slipped one open, as always listening for the danger. The hall beyond was short and didn't extended into the dark depths as I thought it might, bed frames had been crammed between the walls at the left. In the other direction was another set of duo doors, blocked with boards.

I stared into the small office across from me, the dial tone of a phone hummed on the floor somewhere. This seemed more than coincidental, this looked exactly like it did in my dream. Except…there was a key hanging on the wall now. I slipped over the counter and crossed to it, the label above read Elevator. Well, now I had it.

I took the key and dropped it into my pocket. The door was jammed but with my weight braced to, the frame snapped. I tumbled out catching the wall against my hands, the pain stretching through my knuckles nearly overshadowed the menacing scraping noise of those scissors as Trager stepped in from the next hall.

"Hey buddy, where you been?"

I slammed the door in his face, completely forgetting it was already busted. He still had to swing it open in the meantime, while I had already sprint over the counter and lunged into the other room. I flung the next door shut and retreated to the middle of the room, where the shadows were not diminished by the outside light. As I slid under a bed, the grating chatter announced Trager's entrance. I buried my face in my shoulder to muffle my heavy breathing.

"You're overreacting." He snipped the shears and scanned the room. "How can I set you to ease? I swear, you're not gonna get a better deal elsewhere."

Seriously, I didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about. Made me hate him even more. I tensed when it sounded like he was directly beside me, but he was nearer to the wall clinking as he dropped down to check under a bed. He wasn't facing me.

I crawled out from my hiding spot and slinked across the room, ducking down again and faced the wrong way as he stood up snipping the shears. For a minute Trager stood in total silence gazing over the room, the odd monocle glinting in what light slipped in through the barred window. Where did that light brave from, through the storm? I could almost see him clearly, the sharp textures accenting his skeletal skin. I slipped the camera into its pack and watched him unmoving. Waiting. Waiting for someone to blink, someone to give in. The rain drummed gently on the glass and I heard something thudding hard, like the desperate rap on a door.

My heartbeat.

Trager fixed his eyes on something in the distance to the side, and I waited for my opportunity to move. When he turns his back, when he averts his gaze, that will be my chance. Thunder crackled right outside the window and a sudden blaze of light lit up the room, his face snapped to where I lay.

"Hey!" He dashed over to me and reached under the bed, as I rolled away and leapt over his back, the door in my sights. He thrust his elbow up catching my knee in midflight, and I flopped against one of the pillars. He spun around as I recovered, "Come on now, don't be difficult." He swept the shears out as I twisted away, they slapped my shoulder and I dropped hard to my knee.

A bed was right beside me, I had enough time to crawl under as Trager brought his weapon down through the thin mattress. I yowled when the shears pierced my backside, he grunted as he attempted to force the blades down but the metal frame prevented that. I jerked out from under them, and rolled away as he tore the shears free. As he vaulted over the next bed, I crawled under the last and shoved myself upright and sprint for the open door. I didn't bother to shut it as I went, I needed to reach that elevator.

I exited into the original corridor, with the two rooms and the patients. The elevator was just down at the end.

Everything was as I left it, the shelf shoved aside and the door left wide open and welcoming my dubious return. I zipped through into the cheerfully lit elevator, with the foreboding blood splatter right at its entrance. I paid it no heed as I dug the key from my pocket and being as gentle as broad panic would allow, inserted it into the slot. I hit the down button and stood back, breathing a sigh of relief when the gate jerked shut. The grumpy machine gave a stubborn lurch before it began to descend. Once I was stationary I began to notice the painful throbbing in my hands and recalling the wounds, checked to see fresh blood spilling. This didn't surprise me. In my desperation to escape, I had dug my fingertips into whatever was within reach. Just had to ignore it, and for a while I'd forget.

I was slipping down to sit when I heard the gate of the elevator rattle below, and all at once I forgot.

"I'm not giving up on you, buddy," Trager grunted, accompanied by sharp metal clinks and snaps.

I backed up into the furthest corner and watched him force the shears between the lock on the elevator, the mechanism snapped and the gate came loose. He shouldered his way through and raised the shears over his head.

_No_.

I lunged forward snaring his elbow in one hand and used the other to shove him backwards. Trager looked stunned by this retaliation, and slapped at my face as I bullied him out the opening. The shears spun wild in his grip grazing my hair, I tucked my face down and glared with the edge of my eye. He snagged my coat sleeve as I pressed him out, the elevator was still going down throughout this and I was losing leverage as he leaned onto me. I grabbed the metal frame on my right, rammed him in the chest with my elbow and threw him back out.

_Just DIE!_

Trager recovered and lunged, thrusting the metal blades at my face. I pulled myself UP out of the lift to snag them at the base, and felt them breeze by my forehead. We were suddenly fighting face to face, I was teetering on the edge while Trager struggled to wrench the scissors from my grip. If he had another chance to lunge, I didn't think I could stop him.

Something happened in that instant. I turned my face up to his and looked into his murky eye. I swear I saw something there, something fleeting in his expression. And it scared me. That 'look' in his face scared me more than 'Doctor' Rick Trager himself.

"Wha—?" he stammered.

_Just fucking die._

My foot slipped and I latched onto his shoulder, jerking him with me. He yelped as he toppled forward, his fist gave me a good smack as he fell halfway into the elevator. I winced from the sudden impact and snapped my arm up, when he swung the shears for my head. He cut a long slice up my sleeve instead. I stooped lower as they snapped once more in empty air, but it probably wasn't necessary. He took one more swipe at me, even as the lift lowered over his torso.

The mad doctor gave a sharp squeal as the machine compressed his organs, I heard bones crunch and skin splint as the metal frame nearly cut him in half. I stepped back as he gave a small whimper, his hand finally releasing the shears - they fell between the connecting floors and thereafter lost to the depths of hell. With the unyielding obstruction, the elevator ground to a despairing halt. It was almost worth it.

For a while I stood, back pressed against the wall as I gazed at Trager, wondering if this were true. Was he…dead? Was it possible to kill him?

I pulled out the camera and filmed. A little bit of blood was dripping from his lips, his oily hair had settled over the top of his bald head in clumps, and he finally shut up. He must've been dead, regardless, he was no longer a threat.

"_How To Make Trager Juice_

_Step 1: squeeze._"

I tucked the notepad away, wincing as my exposed bone got caught on a loose thread. It cut at the remaining skin, but didn't hurt the bone. I snapped the troublemaker free and zipped the pocket shut, then turned to locate a way out. There was an escape panel in the roof. I secured the camera in its hoister and unlatched the panel. I gave the now deceased Trager a final glare, before I climbed up. A hot pain made itself known in my backside. Where he stabbed me.

The elevator hadn't gone down very far, I still needed to reach the ground floor. I paused under the light that greeted me, but saw a stronger source down a hall where some filing cabinets had fallen over. An open gate was there as well, a good place to start in my search for the exit.

I stood by the cabinet and turned as far as I could to view the damage. There was a tear in my coat, revealing my shirt and red had spilled all the way down, soaking the back of my pants almost to the back of my knee. The wound felt soggy and it hurt when I applied pressure through the coat, but nothing else was broken. Nothing serious.

I had to take a moment to look at my hands. Yeah, anything short of decapitation and I'll feel insulted.

This definitely was an older section of the asylum. The stairs looked ancient, the wood railing worn with the slick polish of a thousand hands, everything was wood and each step creaked as I took it gently. I couldn't shake it, but I thought I could smell something burning. Maybe just the stale air of the hall playing tricks with my mind, it was hard to think fire with the storm outside and the soft rain splattering the windows. I walked down the steps relying on the nightvision, despite how low I was on batteries. The current charge was still good, a little less than half remained.

The gate at the steps bottom was locked effectively blocking my progress, but in a small corridor on the left was a partially rotted wall. I crept around the railing and peered into the break, where someone had torn away the plaster surface. The wood was loose enough that I could get some of the panels out, allowing me to lean down and squeeze through. On the other side was a small office setup and a phone with its typical complaint. I picked it up and set it on the receiver as I looked over the room.

The desk with its neglected monitor seemed out of place in this museum. Billboards hung on the walls, pinned with notices, a few filing cabinets lined the walls. A shattered chair lay on the other side of the room, I flipped through the shelves loaded with medical books and boxes of files, but nothing held my interest. On the wall hung a Team Work plaque. I scoffed at it and searched the desk. A few batteries had made home in a CD player.

CD player? They still made those things?

I crossed to the door and paused listening before trying the handle. I winced when my finger brushed against the rough wood. Careful, I didn't need to be leaving little blood trails all over the place. I'd seen enough of that.

On the other side was a larger office with only a small desk situated near an outdated furnace. Heating must have been terrible in this place. Not far from this set up, a crushed door was pinned in its frame. The door didn't matter, there was a massive hole blown out of the wall a few feet away. I wondered if someone came in here, or if they tossed the filing cabinet through the wall. It didn't look like it had been previously tossed. Glass crinkled underfoot as I stepped through, and lowered the camera to view the new area.

The exit was near the kitchen, that's where Trager caught me. Bad memories, all of it behind me now.

It was on this floor, I'm sure. Just needed to find a way over there. I wasn't certain where I was. Some large open hall with overturned desks and files scattered everywhere, chairs lined the walls between the large decorative and ornate pillars embedded with the plaster. The air was musty, everything used and worn out then forgotten. This place resembled an atrium or waiting room, but with less grandeur. Had I gone back in time? Everything was beginning to look ancient.

I had to keep in mind the Asylum was shut down in the seventies, it wasn't exactly the medieval times but it had been built long before the more modern conveniences. Most likely when Murkoff took over, the outdated facilities were condemned for public appearance, then they built the newer areas for their precious staff and left everything else – old drafty building and prison blocks - to the patients. Grade A bastards right there.

Then, did this mean the patients had not been in the newer section of Mount Massive when everything began? It was clear now they traveled between the two sections via their own means, but Murkoff never bunked them with their people? It did make sense. If you viewed it from Murkoff's perspective, whom barely credited their victims with a shred of humanity. I'm sure they didn't want the scientists awoken in the dead of night to the shrieking, when god knows what was being done.

I walked along filming the walls, taking in details. This area looked much tamer than the other section of the asylum, a lot less death and gore. No one had been on this side at the time when the shit storm hit, probably never made it here with the front doors on lockdown. There were no mechanical doors on this side, I had seen that first hand. That exit was wide open and waiting for me

Movement behind the windowed in office startled me, and I had jumped back several feet before a light shown through at me. I let out an exasperated sigh as I resumed my path to the dark figure. I didn't get too close though, despite the wall between us. Who knew what He was up to?

"Thank God, you survived," Martin gushed. I sighed and lowered the camera to my side. "I feared that secular maniac would carve you up like the others." He glanced around, as though he expected someone other than me to be listening or nearby. "Meet me outside, we're close now." With that vouch of encouragement he turned and jogged off.

Close to what? He took the exit, but that's as far as I could tell. This just made matters worse. I had no idea what this 'Father' was getting at, he kept leading me around the Asylum and the idea he could locate me easily never settled well. Not after he jumped me in the Security room.

The door was nailed tight, and the glass was that shatter proof junk. Unless the big fucker just appeared on the other side, I wasn't getting through. It might've been easier do tear the rotten wood beneath the windows, but the interior wood was either too thick or reinforced in some manner asylums included in their layout of inconvenience.

On the left was a large archway that led into more dark halls, for a change of pace. This place was a maze of halls, and I was the mouse. The mouse that smelled burning feathers. I'm sure something was burning, it was a blistering and out of place scent among these frigid walls. It had that bad plastic stink from a microwave, or when an idiot burnt the popcorn. Piercing and lingering after each exhale.

The hall took a right, but beyond that at distance trailed the thin line of light beneath a door. I pushed aside a small cart that was in the path and paused, listening as the oppressive silence wound around. Something was hissing, a pipe in the wall, the sound was soft and inconsistent. The light danced in its little slice of heaven and a thick vapor did not go unnoticed as it crept between the thick slats of shadow. I gave the door a light push and tilt around the frame to see inside, the NV wasn't necessary in the restroom due to the light wavering in the sink. I gaged at the foul air that stung my throat and pressed my arm over my mouth. Ugh.

An arm and leg roasted away, the skin hissed and bubbled, most of it scorched with dark smoke billowing off the cooked pieces. For some reason they were on fire. I didn't understand why, or what sort of logic could be behind this. Did someone light them or was someone playing with a lighter? This did not bode well. The smog began to dissipate immediately with the door open, but not enough to clear the air or make it any more breathable. Fucking hell, this didn't even surprise me anymore. I wish it did, I really do, but I think it's expected by now.

The fumes were making me nauseous, prompting me to shut the door and move on. It wouldn't be worth it to risk checking the stalls if the pyromaniac was still there, more unstable than usual due to smoke inhalation. I didn't doubt there was a fire here somewhere, and I'd stumble upon it too soon. How it came to be was a mystery, but I should either do something about it if I could or try a little harder to find that exit. Now.

Let this place burn to the ground, but not before I'm outside to watch.

I returned to the foremost corridor, passing by pictures of the Asylum's founders, and an abandoned wheelchair. Somewhere a patient or another of Murkoff's surviving personnel shrieked, I barely paused before trying the unobstructed door at the end of the hall. Tile walls met the NV, and as I entered the distant echo of crashing came. I waited in the doorframe staring up and blinking, the sound of my steady breathing seemed thunderous in the small space. The noise eventually settled into a less threatening fumbling, I tried to figure out its origins as I shut the door and slipped down the small hall. Could it be people in the walls?

It was a short walk then a left, and I stopped to peer around the corner and listen for the natural symphony of the Asylum. Most old buildings creaked and settled, this place murdered and screamed.

I shut off the NV and scanned around. A large shower room for the male ward, rectangular in shape with a wall built through the center. Showers lined one wall with lockers on the other, benches to sit at and laundry baskets scattered near the lockers. A couple of the doors looked to have been torn open, I envisioned someone was searching for the guard that lay bloody and beaten on the floor.

I stepped by the man and checked the backside of the room where it ended via uprooted lockers. A box of files had been dumped here, the contents ruined by a lot of blood and water leaking from a cracked shower head. I flipped through some of the salvable pages and found a note that was pertinent.

_From: _

_To: .com _

_Subject: Annapurna, employee no. 531920 _

_Mr. Walsh, _

_Please accept the immediate resignation of Orderly 531920, David Annapurna, and process him as a patient of Mount Massive to treat his prosecutorial delusions. Treatment should continue until the time of his death. Thanks, buddy. _

_Rick Trager _

_Murkoff R&D_

This couldn't possibly be the same Rick Trager that liked to tie people down and cut them up. Not by a long shot.

I noted the guard as I walked by, his wounds appear fresh and the puddle of blood still crept along the tile's cracks. Which only meant his killer was nearby, which didn't mean a whole lot. Every other persons killer was nearby, it would be weird if I ran into a none psychotic, lucid patient. I pause and note a trail of bare feet prints leading around the next corner, and the only path currently open to me. The shower room had excellent acoustics, but I carried on with caution when slipping around the corner.

Urinals lined the wall on the other side, no lockers of alcoves for a person to crawl into. The end of the room had no light leaving the NV as my only visibility. The smell of smoke was getting stronger and the air was unbearably stuffy and thick, I was coughing before I opened the door and stepped into a wall of heat. My left was blocked by tables and cabinets, I was forced to the right where the visibility was obstructed by the thick hazy. I lingered in the next hall and checked my corners before stepping out.

High above, windows wavered with orange and yellow streaks. I walked along the wall determined to find a way around rather than through, I didn't care how many magnet key cards I needed to pull off dead security. The hall on the left ended in what looked like a blockade, with tables crammed at a door just to discourage the trip.

The only door into the room, cafeteria the plate said, was stacked with more tables and containers, setting me a bit to ease. I didn't need to fight the door yet, and no one could break it down. I navigated around discarded furniture, a broken desk and a wheelchair, toward a shattered door frame beckoning at the other end. There had to be a way around, there had to be an alternate route to the cafeteria.

The fire crackled on the other side, and the smoke seeped through a high open window. I breathed a little easier upon stepping into the next hall, across the way another door nailed shut. I ventured left listening to the wood crackle behind the walls, sweat gathered on my brow to slip down around my eyes. The halls end was obstructed by all manner of useless crap, but a door had been left ajar on the right. I was beginning to surrender to the concept of just climbing through that window.

Behind the door was a small utility closet. Fuck.

There was only the open window into the heart of hell. Fuck. I retraced my steps and found bloody handprints on the edge of the window. Fuck. I climbed up, getting a face full of heat as I pulled myself over into the room. Everything was on fire. Even the fire was on fire.

I hate this place.

Upturned lunch tables, long table carts, everything piled and jammed in every direction as though orchestrated to utilize the mother of bonfires. The wooden tables were a wild blaze and at first glance it looked like there was no way through without roasting, but the floor ahead was plenty clear enough. If I didn't fall sideways. The metal wasn't on fire, only the walls and most of the ceiling. I noted to myself to use caution with the camera, the heat could damage the memory drive and that would just wreck this entire ordeal.

No matter what, I would get out of here with all my evidence, everything. That had always been my goal in the beginning, and it has been what kept me going. It might seem petty, but someone had to remember what happened here, and that everyone had been killed by something – the former victims, Chris Walker, a lunatic with a fancy for taking people apart. And people were not done dying.

The heat had swelled within its small confines until the room had all but burst, I coughed against the smoke and kept low out of the heavy fumes. I stepped around the small pieces of kindling that had already fallen from the ceiling, scanning the bright yellow fingers for the safest path. My face was beginning to feel parched as my sweat dried, and my fingers ached against the brutal onslaught. I ducked to the side as some of the timber from above crashed down, sending a swirl of red embers across the tile. Needed to get out of here before it collapsed.

Some tables were stacked over each other, but I could see no other way around. I pulled my collar up around my neck and ears before I knelt low and crawled underneath. A couple dozen trays had been scattered across the floor, which I kept away from as I stood up and stopped. A patient sat on the table beside my current path, his feet had red coloration but that could have been the orange flames mingling with my vision. I coughed a bit at the smoke as I stepped closer to him.

"I had to burn it. All of it." Subtly, I raised the camera from the pack to film him.

"Murkoff took so much from us. Used us." He held up his hands, indicating the mutilation. If he turned his head to my left, he looked almost normal. "Turned us into these things because nobody cares about a few forgotten lunatics." He dropped his hands over his lap and slumped forward.

"So let it burn. Burn the whole god damned thing down. Get out." He indicated me with a thumb. "If you still want to live. You can get out through the kitchen."

Good to know. But the kitchen was on fire too.

"_I'm not the only victim here, not by a long shot. I watch a man wait to burn to death, the most painful death imaginable, rather than stay in this place._"

I put the notepad away, and wrinkled my nose at the stench of burning meat. A Murkoff or someone was pinned under a table, rotten and on fire, a horrible combination. There were not many areas open to me, most the tables were engulfed with flames or getting there, I crawled over a shelving cart left sideways. A piece of timber from above hit my back, and I swatted it away before damage could be done. I picked up the pace, before the whole roof could crash down, or worse.

I snapped the camera into its hoister and pulled my coat up over my head more, as I navigated the furnace. A table in my path was catching fire, but not enough yet to deter me. On the other side more of the staff lay slain, dried blood stuck to their cloths and fire chewing on their skin. I was able to get under a shelf into a side of the cafeteria that hadn't been overwhelmed by flames. I exited through an open door to the other side, and shut it behind me. To keep the fire from following. I fixed my coat and fanned some of the heat from its surface. Felt good to be dry and warm for once, it was difficult to recall what being cold and damp felt like. The cool threads digging into the fibers of my coat reminded me that we'd be reacquainted here very shortly.

The hall went two ways, the right had nothing but a dead end and boarded up double doors. To suffice my curiosity I made sure those nails were tight, then wove my way around broken wheelchairs and a crushed shelf to the other side. Cabinets and industrial shelves had been stuffed into the hall, my only path would be the dark corridor that was open opposite of the way to the inferno. Things were looking up.

An archway straight ahead would have led to another room, if not for the stacks of shelves and whatnot packed into it. Continuing to the right was another set of double doors, one open and accessible. The churning roll of the flames had died down once I turned the corners into this corridor, and the creeping chill enveloped my skin. How despairing the decrepit and harmless walls around me were less unfavorable, than that of the inferno.

When I entered the office wing, I shut the door and exchanged out the battery. I examined the room over extensively seeking a way out, an alternative path much better than charging through a kitchen that was on fire. There was little to this room, it was large but most of that were the segregation walls and an area to the side encircled by a counter, inside, the walls had a few bookcases loaded with files and books. A receptionist's desk? I glanced over a few but it looked like outdated pages before Murkoff.

Through an open doorway on the left side was another member of Murkoff slumped over his desk and blood staining the carpet under him. His wrists were black, but that was the most of his injuries. He might've committed suicide, but why? Had he received word of what was happening in the Asylum and given up hope for escape? What had been so horrible?

The other side of the room had another desk, and a dead employee slumped beside the base, soaked with blood and multiple wounds wrecked his body. An obvious contrast between him and his colleague. A few files had been left on the desk, I flipped through finding one that made me uneasy

_IF YOU'RE SEEING THINGS, SAY SOMETHING. There's no shame in Psychopathologist Proximity Stress Disorder (PPSD). Talk to your supervisor to get help from a Murkoff Success Counselor._

Well, sure! We want you to further the Murkoff Charity Association, also known as BULLSHIT. And you too can further OUR research with your mangled corpse, or highjack your brain and make you see some scary shit!

Trager had also mentioned cutting employee pensions, wonder if this was part of his scheme to collect more bodies for the fucked up carnival ride Murkoff was running. None of this surprised me, this was Murkoff after all. Every underhanded and malicious tactic seemed to have been employed by the cooperation in this Project Walrider, and now they reaped what they had sewn. Death, chaos, religion, and me at the center of it all.

Burning was too good for it.

There was little else in the remaining section of the room, just a box of pamphlets warning about sanitization work areas, nothing to note. Nowhere to go. The double doors on the other side were nailed tight, unless I really wanted to fight them. I still had no idea what would be on the other side. Nothing?

I returned to the previous hall and looked over the shelving that was stacked there, and found a few carts and things that I could dislodge. Easy, just drag them out and push the rest through. I squeezed through, then stopped on the other side to check my back. The fabric was stiff but that meant the bleeding had stopped. I'd need a mild procedure later to fix that, the wound will have set long before stitches and I was certain it needed stitches.

More dark, more failed security. Another door on my left, barricaded shut from the other side with shelves and a table. Might be one of the doors I'd viewed from the cafeterias hall, I'm certain I did come from that direction. I stepped along murky windows hearing…a curios tapping, almost like the rattle of pellets, but I couldn't find the source. It faded as I continued and I decided that was a plus. Whenever I heard that sound….

A plaque on the wall indicated Baths and Laundry ahead, and the Cafeteria was indicated the former hall I'd come from. From where I stood, the faint outline of a medical table was visible, laying parallel to the wall. Beyond that a door bolted up from inside the room and therefore not worth wasting my battery. The NV was also giving me a mild ache, the monotone green haze dug into my concentration.

I could see through some of windows on the wall, within was a room with large vats, tile floors, but I had no way of accessing it. At the moment it didn't seem important, unless it provided an immediate means of escape. There was no visible door that I could make out.

The hall took a left and at the end light scared away the dark, but there was a door at the wall just before the corner. Above the frame a plate labeled the room Emergency Sprinklers. That seemed useful, if not better than nothing at all. Though this section of the Asylum was out of date, it would still have the barest of fire prevention. Either it was shut off along with the lockdown, or the basement was now a pool.

I entered the dim room and found a pressure gauge, surrounded by its large pipes and a tank to the side. The gauge was not as helpful as I had thought and read zero pressure for the water. There had to be a way to get water back into the system. I had no idea where to start, no map was available to indicate where additional tanks would be located.

Sounded like someone in the floor above was having a wrestling match. I stepped out of the room staring up, wondering if whatever was up there would tumble down here. Or were people trying to escape the blaze that was catching. Maybe both.

At the halls end, where the light began, was another plate reminding where the Baths and Laundry Room were, and the cafeteria that was currently on fire. This hall would lead back to it if it wasn't blocked by the shelves and cabinets I had viewed from the opposite side. It might've been easier to climb over, if it looked stable at all. I sighed and pivoted to the lit hall unexplored.

There had to be a way to redirect water into the emergency tanks. The bath would be a good place to start, I'd have to check and get out of there fast. Or find a bucket for water, that would be better than nothing. I wasn't asking much.

The only light source was a lone lamp. Beyond, the next room was dead with electricity, but on the opposing side was another light. From my position I could make out silhouettes, the shapes obscured by the window frame on my side. I moved towards the open doorway, where the door was I didn't care, it wasn't on its hinges and therefore could NOT be locked. I jerked in my tracks catching the flutter of a shadow on the far wall. I saw that! I saw that!

Then the big fucker marched into view, and I receded to the dark hall I had stepped from. I knelt down and checked the corners edge to see if he was coming, I don't think he saw me. Chris stepped through the shadows towards the doorframe and paused, examining the area over. In my new position, with the camera aimed and zoomed I could easily identify the body of Murkoff's own, suspended by a cord fixed to his throat. Another suicide?

No matter what, I was getting out of this place. Whatever it took.

* * *

><p><strong>A big thank you to people waiting patiently for the updates. I am not always there... If you see something in my hasty editing that could do with a change, feel free to send a note or a smoke signal and I'll look into it. I does not have a beta<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

Exodus on Fire

After examining his surroundings thoroughly, Chris turned and walked out of sight. I wasn't certain where he had gone, or what the area was like that he was now in. I watched, waited and listened, but at this distance the sounds of his chains were rebuked by the doorframe and the walls. It frustrated me to no end but I was unwilling to proceed until I had some feeble hint to his whereabouts.

That area looked dark enough, if I could get to the shadows he might not notice me. Or at least get around him, if I could slip under his field of vision. It was either the big fucker or the fire, and while I was safer in the flames, it was easier to shake him.

I reached the doorframe and listened, he could be on the other side admiring a wall, and I wouldn't know it. Or he might've found some other room to wander into, a way out less dangerous than playing in fire.

Sweat trickled down my hairline, the air was dry and warm but an odd draft glanced my brow as I was crouched and waiting. I was on a tense countdown, the brittle timber of the Asylum was going up like matchsticks with every second I wasted. Rush out and get snared by the big fucker, I wouldn't be worried about burning up with two face. I scooted closer to the doors edge, carefully touched the frame with my left hand and tilt my head near the wood. I strained to hear, to imagine if I could where the big fucker would be.

A crack and crunch echoed from the other side, his trademark symphony of demolition. The reverberations had distance on them, not clear cut noises near my position, which elicited a sigh of relief. I peered around the corner and raised the camera, no eyes, no movement. Crouched low I scampered into the shadows and paused, scanning the room. Chris had headed to the right so that's where I focused my attention. It looked like another office station or watch room, sandwiched between the two corridors that boxed it in. For employees protection, when the doors were present and variants had not gotten loose all over the god damn place. The wood floor ended at broken tile, a few pieces clinked as I stepped on them but the bad spots were easily avoided.

I knelt down and waited, the door abuse would have covered up the miniscule sound but it had ceased when I had moved. I strained to pick out movement at the limit of the cameras zoom, but nothing presented itself. The surrounding hall was still and silent, aside from a faint _plip-blip_. Across from where I knelt, bodies had been situated around a table as though invited to a tea party. Overhead, the leg of one was tangled in a lamp cord and his jagged neck stump dripped blood into the bucket set in the tables center below. Something glittered in the lap of a man on the right side, and I focused the camera to make out the outlines of a head, probably the former property of the man suspended above the gathering.

I would chalk this up to one of the more disturbing displays of mutilation, though there was no limit to the overabundance of insanity.

At the far end of the room was larger entrance, shocker, it wasn't crammed with crap so I could run through if I needed. Seemed redundant, but little things like that needed to be noted in the event I rushed through and got lost in my panic. That was an often enough occurrence. I didn't want to dwell on that scenario, couldn't afford to lose time. The smoky scent was oddly reminiscent of a campfire, if not for that underlying bite of plastic. As I headed through the broken frame into the next corridor, the hazy vapor swirled in the blinding light lying on its side.

The lamp was that model that could be mounted or moved, a second lay a few feet from its twin. Looked like their clamps had been snapped off and they were abandoned on the bare wood floor. A bad spot if I needed to sneak by, but I was momentarily distracted by another plate mounted on the wall labeling directions. Baths were indicated to the left, along with the Cafeteria.

A few carts loaded with supplies were in the way, they creaked as I pushed through toward what looked like another blockade of shelves and some desks. I tested the sturdiness of the desk and found I could wedge my body between it and a shelf. It was better than going back.

I grunted and struggled against the furniture threatening to pin my body, and paused only once when the sharp pain crept up my side. Just my ribs wanting attention, by far the worst injury I've received here. Worse than the traumatizing loss of my fingers, which were not yet a life threatening matter. If I wasn't careful a good swat from any of the variants would snap them, and what would follow would be a painful exercise of survival without puncturing my lungs and drowning in my own blood.

The corridor must have continued to the cafeteria, but the path was lost for whatever reason. I observed a large and evident archway on the other side of the blockade, boarded up tightly with planks of wood. This activity must have been undertaken somewhere during Mount Missives operation, the wood was aged and I couldn't see the survivors of Murkoff going to this much trouble to fit the boards so tightly together if they were in a panic. A simple but crude barricade, evidence that even before Murkoff's influence, Mount Massive was shady and cruel in its own methods.

The baths were in the next room on the right, as indicated by the plate beside the open door. I peered around the corner to view rows of tubs for patients, several had decaying slings attached to a weighted arm mechanism beside them. For lobotomized patients? The thought caused my stomach to lurch, I'm sure there were a few even before Murkoff took over.

A few tubs in I spotted one of the patients doing… something, I'm not sure I wanted to know what. He looked distracted enough, I just needed to get by without agitating him.

The storm had calmed to some degree, allowing light to seep through the muggy glass from nearby rooms, and perhaps the outside lamps. I'm not entirely sure where from, didn't care too much either if it meant saving my batteries. I secured the camera long before I reached the man, but he raised his head and gave me some brief attention while he did… whatever he was doing. It appeared he was bathing a corpse.

"Hushaby, you'll have your turn." He sounded feminine, I guess. Or he wanted to? I decided not to record this. This was right on that list of most bizarre and/or disturbing things I have witnessed yet in this place.

The corpse was in what might've been water at some point, but it was dark crimson and bloated with blood clots. The patient gently rubbed his shoulders and scooped 'water' over his chest. "There you go. We clean your belly, clean your arms. Every little crevice until we find that key." I fought not to make any sudden movements, hasten my pace or stutter as I passed him. "I know one of you babies has it. There you go, shh, shhh."

He was preoccupied, and he was clothed. That was good enough.

The tubs along the wall were filled with blood, body parts. Others appeared to have been out of commission, with an oily black tarp laid over the sides to prevent use. A body lay in one, black blood dried along the sides and a twisted expression of agony in his eyes. His mouth was wide open and his tongue swollen black and his remaining teeth cut into the parched flesh. Someone that didn't want a bath? I was utterly shocked by what was in the last tub I passed. Actual water. I couldn't explain why, but the very sight of it filled me with horror.

Maybe I was becoming so desensitized to the carnage, something so remedial reminded me of the earlier hours of my day. Holding intelligent conversations with semi-conscious human beings, or the recollection that there would be - WOULD BE - a life after this. Once I was out, I could resume a normal lifestyle. Put a fuck lot of distance between my remaining psyche and Colorado, retire, and live on the earnings of my story.

But the nights. And the dark. I shuddered.

I knew without a doubt I'd wake up in the middle of the night shrieking, horrified by the shadows running up the walls. My heart racing in my chest and the memories of this place - hiding in the corners and wondering if the creature stalking through the black shadows would find me. Would I be fast enough to keep away from it? And when I woke up, was I truly awake, or was I dreaming I had awoken safe in bed? Then feel the same raw terror as Chris suddenly appeared beside me, face cut back in a cruel grin with eyes dead and murky gleaming with malice. The repugnance in that sneer as those skeletal fingers reached for my throat.

I'm an investigative reporter, always, ALWAYS willing to risk my neck getting the stories no one in their right mind would dare touch. I'd done some pretty reckless and dangerous stunts in my career, interviewed people that wouldn't think twice to gut me on the spot to save face. Goaded suspects without a care what they might do if witnesses were not present. The thrill excited me, I needed the challenge, I couldn't accept a job that wouldn't reciprocate the kind of work I was willing to put into the means of acquiring the evidence.

Political corruption, corporate wrongdoing, Christ, I even interviewed a sick monster of a man that had described his sadistic cult brutally raping women before cutting them into pieces and burning the bodies to conceal the evidence – in their mind, if it no longer existed you couldn't prove a fuckin thing.

All of these stories I had collected and sold, them and dozens more. All for my rent, car payments, bills. Months of data retrieval, sifted into a feasible document that could be distributed to the masses, so they could read and feel and learn what terrible things the world had hidden. The horrible things happening behind their backs when they weren't looking, what they willingly ignored so they could lead an honest life. Then turn around and pity the people that had endured this shit, and in the same conversation forget them altogether and return to their lives, to their reality. While multitudes of people still suffered to the corporate hog that profited off their blood and sweat. Profited from their voice unheard.

Then. Here I am in one of the worst fuckin places in the world, fighting to get out of this little hellhole that Murkoff had burned into the planet. And I was feeling it. I was experiencing the horrors our little side of paradise could muster, the unspoken cruelty hitched to people forgotten to the world. People brutalized, mutilated, and experimented on for the curiosity of a man already long dead. And I was cracking under the strain of it all.

Lightening flashed outside, bring me back to this place, back to here. I looked at the tub of water, dirty with grime but it was still water. I took a slow breath and turned to the room, lit with the soft glow of a light. Just a light somewhere above, I didn't see.

The room was a disappointment. A plate by the frame read Sprinkler Valve, and inside was a large pump that must have controlled the distribution of water in this section. I didn't bother shutting the door as I met the valve and twisted it, the sharp hiss of air being forced from the pipes. It gave a low rattle and I waited dully for whatever may happen, but the noise passed and a low burble vibrated from within the walls.

I backed away towards the door, instead bumped into the wall beside the frame and dropped to my seat. I drew my knees up, my body began to quiver and I took in a small breath as I felt tears spill down my face. I hated this place. I hated this fuckin place so much. I pressed a palm against my eyes trying to calm down, but everything was so messed up right now. Had to get out. That's all I needed to do. Get out with everything I have, and bury these bastards far in the hell they devised.

How long had that been my sole mission? Too long, I recalled. A new wave of helplessness surged through me and I choked a bit as I took another sharp breath. The moisture stung the sensitive remains of my ring finger, and I cowered down under the crushing blow of humiliation.

_Miles. I won't die here. I can't die here_. I took a deep breath and focused on that odd tickle in my side. _I refuse to die._

The fire still consumed the Asylum, I had to keep moving. There was no argument in the matter, I was not going to wallow and let death take me at its leisure. I rubbed my collar at my face and got up off my ass. As I hurried through the baths I kept on the furthest side of the tile wall.

"No complaining now, we have to wash every little part." I picked up the pace. "Who's a clean baby? Who's a clean baby? You are…."

There was no sign of the big fucker on the other side of the barrier. He was probably just in the other room, doing his stalking thing. If I darted past there he would see me and give chase, and I had no idea where I would go after that. Most the barricades were set up to keep him out, I could always come back to this side. Not a good plan B, he'd know I was right here with no other option but to eventually crawl back out. In the meantime the fire swarmed on.

Just had to find a fool proof plan A. I slipped out and crouched low crawling on the floor to the doorway I had come through. Through the NV I couldn't see him in the hall across where the light didn't reach, didn't hear him wandering nearby either. I peered around the doorframe, he wasn't there.

He had to be somewhere, the big fucker wouldn't just take off. Unless he knew I had left this area, he would hunt around until he found me. Somehow he knows where I am, suspects where I've gone but he doesn't know for certain. My only edge was his doubt.

I finally realized the light I was standing beside cast a huge shadow on the wall behind me, so if Chris were somewhere it wasn't in that room. I kept low as I snuck by the cracked frame, to an open doorway at the other end.

It was a set of double doors, one door was crushed into the room. I tried the handle of the other out of curiosity to confirm, previously these doors were locked. I entered into another office area, separated into smaller cubicle sections. The walls crossing the room fashioned after the same glassed in design prominent in this section of the Asylum. Long wooden counters boxed in the right side of the room where I entered from, shelves lining the walls within had been stuffed with moth eaten files and books. At least one desk was set up in each cube, the drab glean of the still functioning monitors barely cut into the dark room.

I toggled between the nightvision, and whatever light was coming through the windows on the left hand side of the room. I didn't want to get stuck someplace without batteries again if I could help it. I did manage to stumble when a box of files caught my foot, completely missed as I scanned over the cracked office windows. I passed through a doorway into the other half of the room, finding more of the same, nothing useful aside from some lockers and empty boxes and files lost on the floor. I scattered a few with my foot, but didn't go through them. At the worst possible time, the big fucker would find me. I needed to pay attention.

Though I did stop as I passed by a desk and found a blood blotched body curled up beneath, a camera in his hand. I knelt and slipped the device free of the stiff grip and checked for batteries. There were two, but I pondered the camera a moment. What was he hanging onto this for? Evidence? It was broken, I couldn't find out what happened in his last moments. But a dial on the top I could just make out, it had the usual features and one I was accustomed to using. The nightvision.

This seemed pretty straight forward, so I left the body to resume my own survival.

There was still no sign of the big fucker as I wandered to the hall on my left, to a light source that looked promising. I kept checking the office on the other side, where the bodies sat idly around a bucket of blood. I reached the corner of the first hall I entered from, and glanced around the side just as the big fucker stepped out from a doorway. I took a quick step back and lowered my camera, hoping he'd not see me.

"Little ghost…." He hummed, as he entered the corridor after me.

I hastened to back away, until he flew into a sudden dash. I pivoted and retreated to the office area, a draft glanced across my back as I picked up speed. I was barely an arm's length out of his reach and the grating sounds of his breath were too close, much too close. I brought up my camera and shot around the corner, nearly flying into the locked door in the hall. Chris hollered out as he smashed into the door at full force, it felt like the whole building shook with the collision. I nearly lost my footing as result but that could have been the shock.

The counter was on my direct right, I hoisted over and spun about as I retreated a few steps. Chris entered the room and cast his eyes around, it didn't take long for him to locate me just standing there staring back. He heaved his girth over the top, simultaneously I sprang over the opposite side and took a route through the back half of the office through the white light cutting through the windows.

"It'll hurt just for a second…." The feeble wood quaked under his heavy boots as he cut the distance. I weaved around desks glancing over my shoulder, the chains caught about his wrists glint oddly in the soft glow of the screens we passed. His fingers twitched as he raised his arms, briefly reminding me of the pain they inflicted when he struck me in the sewers.

As I took a sharp turn around the edge of a door, I caught the frame in my left hand and let myself twist about nearly falling to my side. Chris kept going, trying to pivot about just as fast and slipped on his bloodied boots. Some furniture crashed as he slid into it and a flash blinded me momentarily, from a broken monitor knocked off the desk. As he struggled to get up after me, I pulled myself through the door and retraced my steps out of the room. A sharp pain pulsed up my forearm, I didn't know if I pulled something or tore it. Didn't have time to give a damn.

I didn't know where to go, he knew I was here and would be hunting my location. There were scarce few spaces I could hide in unless I huddle in the shadows, praying his patrolling sweeps didn't stumble upon me. I could outrun him, but that wasn't a solid plan. More desperation than calculation, it nearly cost my life once. A few seconds, I had a few seconds before he honed in on my direction. I needed more time to figure out what should be done next. I really didn't have a clue.

I found myself back beside the room he had emerged from. This might throw him off, this might buy a few precious seconds. It was a high risk gamble, but I wanted to take it for no other reason than to satisfy some sick yearning I had to shirk him.

I slammed the door behind me and sprint to the back of the room, where the lockers were concealed by dark shadows. On either side of the wall sat tables and laundry baskets, abandoned with patients uniforms still inside. Rather trap myself in a locker, I ducked under a table at the side as the door buckled, splintered, and crashed open. I froze up immediately, though still out of breath from the running and the panic. I carefully lowered the camera to my knuckles and stuffed my face against my stiff collar. The strong scent of blood hit me and I realized my shoulder had been bleeding bad since Trager hit me with the shears.

In all the anxiety, I had totally missed it until now.

My eyes locked on Chris as he wandered into the room, he paused near the middle and made the soft sniffling sounds as he tried to track me. I can't understand how this was possible, he didn't have a nose. I swallowed and fought with my desire to lower down just a little, I was poised on my hands and knees stock still and felt all for the world exposed. If I shifted, breathed, if I blinked he'd hear and be on me before the realization could process. I was cornered, unless he was flabbergasted momentarily by my audacious concealment attempt.

But he diverted into the next room, and searched that area thoroughly before he returned to reevaluate this room. Without a doubt I was here, he just hadn't found me yet. My breath hitched as he turned to the lockers and made his way towards me. Try not to cough, try not to breathe, don't even think. I shut my eyes and listened as his heavy steps moved right next to me and stopped. Was he facing me, or was he still staring at the lockers? Don't tense, don't move. I squeezed my eyes tighter and clenched my jaw. His labored breath was amplified beside my ear.

A locker door flung open and after a pause shut gently. I waited, holding my breath till my sides ached and my eyes watered. Just a little longer. Hang in there Miles. He'll leave. He'll leave.

The other locker snapped open and after a moment, shut as softly as the first. A tense moment passed as the silence held, was he scanning over the walls now? What was he thinking? He knew I was here, he just didn't know where. From the position he stood, was I visible under the table? Just leave damn it. Go stalk somewhere else. I promise you, I'm not here.

Finally, his boots scraped over the broken tile as he turned. I choked back a thin whine.

"Fuck." His steps grew distant and the rattle of chains departed my senses. Soon the room was silent and calm.

I took a deep breath through my collar and winced, terrified he'd charge back in after hearing that subtle gasp. My hand shifted on the floor, and I realized I had it in a puddle of something. I was afraid to look, but I wanted to make sure it wasn't what I thought it was.

It was. The remains of my ring finger had torn back when I caught the door frame, and blood collected on the floor under me. I wrapped my arms around me as the quivers began through my body without restraint. As I was pulling myself out from under the table, the adrenalin poisoning caught up to me and I buckled forward vomiting onto the floor. So much for the granola bar.

It took a few minutes to get myself under control. I spat out the taste and staggered forward, catching myself on some washer vats before I could fall to heaving again. Focus Miles, focus. Where was I? Laundry room. No way out but the broken door. Was there anything I could use in here?

I took the door on the right, where Chris had searched for me. Shelves piled with sheets, some tools and boxes. The only light above didn't reach the other side of the room, which was a black shadow that looped around the center shelf. The connecting closet had more to offer, a water line with a valve to turn. If there was enough water pressure in the system at this point, I could activate the sprinkles and put out the kitchen. I'd rather let this place turn to cinder, I'm sure that patient would too, but I needed to get out first.

I turned the valve, then spun away to leave the room. I paused briefly and peeked around the doorframe, meeting eyes with Chris on his return search. He gave a snarl and lunged, I nearly backpedaled away before I recalled the room was a small water closet. I dove forward on my initial path, he trudged into the room swiping out as I ducked down into the shelving space. I snatched a nearby laundry basket to pull between us, and tumbled backwards when my heel caught my foot. He tried to kick it aside, but the linen sides absorbed the shock and the basket tipped over rather comically. Outraged he hauled it up and threw it my way, as I pulled myself up and wound around the shelf. The basket cracked against the wall and dropped to the floor. It would have been silly, if that ugly bastard wasn't crushing it underfoot in his frenzy to reach me.

I dashed around the shelf and out the door, moving smoothly through the next room as Chris took up the chase. I was still shaken from the last encounter, but it felt like my feet were flying across the floor, I felt so light headed. Which way was it to the cafeteria?

A plate on the wall clarified my direction, I was on the wrong side of the hall with the fallen lamps. I twisted and lunged through the watch room, barely raising my camera to see as I was clearing the shadows of the lite corridor. A left here, into the sprinkler room, or whatever it was.

Chris was right behind me.

I cleared the doorframe and spun about, throwing the flimsy door against the approaching behemoth. When it cracked shut in the frame I threw myself against the wood, with some insane notion I could hold off the wall of rage and muscle about to tear through. Chris collided with the door at full force, throwing me off backwards. I stared up as the frame cracked, jammed in place. But it wouldn't hold for long. I cradled the camera to my chest and stood examining the closet over.

Tiny space, two fuckin lockers. Bad. Bad. Fuckin bad! I was trapped in here with that big fucker, while he clawed through the only exit. Hide in a locker? He wouldn't fall for that twice.

The door whined in its hinges, for a splint second his eyes were visible through the cracks.

Now. I had to do something, maybe stupid, it couldn't wait. Time was against me. I punched the button, relieved that the sprinklers did come on and that I had achieved something after all of this. The door splint inward, and Chris howled in frustration. It made my blood run cold, or that was the cold water soaking my coat and face.

Think Miles. There was a way out of this, there had to be a way. I was over thinking the situation, but it was impossible to focus with the door giving under each shattering blow delivered without remorse. The big fucker wouldn't spare a moment to consider my death when he ripped my head off. He wouldn't even pause. Had to move, had to run, had to rely on my instincts. That alone was all I had in this room. I crouched low by the door and tucked the camera under my coat. I would need it soon.

The door crumpled inward, Chris burst in, and I ducked right out. Right by the back of his bloodied legs, he hadn't noticed my absence yet. The gushing shower cloaked most of my heavy breathing, the water so thick I was inhaling it. I sped around the next corner and found light illuminating the gap I first entered though. The cafeteria was not far from here.

The scent of sodden wood hit me, and black smoke rolled out from the upper frame of the open door. I remember leaving it closed, but this could mean the patient had left. He was the only surviving person in that room. The scorched Murkoff staff met my gaze as I turned the camera through the gloom. I tried to cover it with my other hand as the water fell in torrents, the cold drops aggravated the freshly ripped tissue but I pressed on. It must've been the earliest design for emergency sprinklers, or the heads themselves were damaged from years of neglect. Probably a little of both. The flow was beginning to lessen as I navigated the dark room.

Thick gray smog filled the ceiling and the room was thick with steam, the violent clash of frigid water and the inferno. Some of the wood persisted to smolder angrily with embers, refusing to douse despite the thick river washing over its surface. I tucked my face into my collar and made my way around the tables and under a shelf, keeping my gaze locked on the soft gleam of the kitchen. My goal. The place where Trager had picked me up.

Best event of the day, watching that fucker die. Could almost be better than getting out, considering I wouldn't have good memories tied to this place. Aside from Trager's death.

I gave the entrance a scan before entering fully. The same countertops and pots were visible, the shelves, all of it was here. I barely remembered this place, but I did recognize the shapes. Shelves for stacking trays, I mused. That made sense. And there was the dumbwaiter I naively crawled into to escape the variants. It hurt to recall these events and I was reminded that on my camera, the entire sequence had been captured. At the moment it saved my life, I didn't want to admit it but…I would've died in that room. No doubt. One thing always led to—

Two face lunged out at me with a shriek, grabbing me by the NECK! I couldn't shake his arms off without risking my camera, so I just slapped him with my bloody hand. It took a few jabs until I finally just struck him with my palm, causing him to stagger backwards. I shoved him away and drew back, freezing in the same instant as he leapt at me with another caterwaul. He knocked me flat on my back before skipping over my face and out of sight.

Fourth Rule. Maybe that should have been the first rule.

He slammed the doors after him. At least he didn't hit me with something painful, but my heart was still pounding in my chest. God damnit, putting out that fire must've really pissed him off.

The danger had passed for the moment, needed to keep moving and put this place behind me. The kitchen looked normal enough, for a horror movie. Long metal countertops were situated at the rooms center, stoves lined the surrounding walls, and pans dangled off racks hung from the ceiling. And a patients body chopped into sections, on one of the island countertops.

I was tempted by the provided arsenal to begin tearing through the drawers and cabinets, hunting for a large knife or selecting one of the numerous skillets dangling from the racks. But I remembered the MHSs' dying words to me, as though he were haunting me this very moment. …_can't fight them…have to hide…_ It would help me in no way to threaten mentally disturbed people, they probably wouldn't even realize I've caved their skull in with a pot while they carved a knife through my chest. Guns did no good, what hope did I have with a knife? I'd survived so far, that was more than the tactical cops could say for themselves.

Tempting, terribly temping, but more harm would come of it. I walked around the table, towards a door on the other side of the wall. I opened it slowly and peered inside. Looked like a small preparation lounge for the staff, I deduced they didn't do a lot of cooking. A few microwaves had been stationed on the counter. And a bloody bowl.

I sighed as I approached the bar and raised my camera.

"_I've said it before, but fuck this place. I've still got those fingers left._"

Small blessings. I didn't bother to date the note, just put it away and shut the door. Not a lot to say about this room, no valves or levers or buttons. Just some overturned shelves crammed in the doorway at the back, a few boxes of canned goods scattered on the floor. A small closet on the right had shelves stacked with more cans, stuff you get at your local grocer.

I pulled out a few marked cocktail fruits and another of green beans, peas, things with pop tops. I drained a bit of the fluid out of each and dumped the contents into my mouth. I wasn't big on canned stuff, Alzheimer's caused by the lead in cans and that sort of thing, but fuck that, I'm hungry.

The echo of a shriek came from the other side of the door. I paused to listen, then picked up the camera and crept back into the pantry. I had one last can of chunky soup before I pushed the door open and paused at the kitchen, straining to pick out any other hostile noises on the other side. It might've been my imagination, or the floor above. There was no other sound beyond the door, so I opened it a crack and scanned the room over. The main doors were still shut. That didn't set me to ease like it should, but that was about the limit of reassurance I was going to get.

I gave the bowl of fingers one last look, before shutting the door and searching for the way to the elevator.

It was easy to find, just had to turn left from the dumbwaiter and retrace the steps Trager had taken. I found the boarded up door, and yes, it was locked. The carpet wasn't carpet, it was ugly wood floorboards that were older than the tomb of Ramesses. My memory was a little fuzzy, I didn't remember passing through a doorframe to get out of the hall, but the elevator was right there.

I went over and looked up at the lift, where it was stuck. In the end, it had been worth it to see that sick fucker die.

I turned away and there, straight ahead, was the exit. In big, bold, red letters.

Father Martin was waiting for me out there. I was in no hurry to stroll on out head first, and stumble into worse nightmares than what the Asylum offered. I took my time reaching the gaping doorway trying to see past the rain and gloom, trying to find shapes that might be waiting.

And as I brought up my camera, I did see a shape huddled up in the branches. I backpedaled from the mist and sprang through the nearest doorway. What the fuck was that? It sounded like something hissed at me, or yowled, something between the two sounds. I wasn't sure what to make of it, only that it frightened me. Was that a shadow in the blaze of lightening?

I was just being an idiot. There was nothing out there but a crazy 'Priest' guy, and that was scary on its own. It could have been him, I just imagined the sound with the rain and thunder. I was terrified enough to imagine those sort of things, the Asylum was always emitting horrifying sounds that were not a figment of my imagination, I was just accustomed to being jumpy at every little creak.

I tried to calm myself and glanced over the office I had hidden in. At the end more files had been scattered under a cheerful lamp, one read Confidential. I passed by some spazzed out monitors to reach the lone desk, and flipped through the pages.

_MKULTRA program, CIA MORI doc no. 140401, pp. 1, 5, 9, excerpts_

_To: File_

_Subject: Special Research, Bluebird_

_I. General Problem_

_For the past several months Bluebird has been endeavoring to ascertain by research, study, instruction and some practice what value (if any) can be derived from SI (Sleep Instruction) and H (Hypnotic) techniques when applied to war and specific Agency problems._

_3. Can we create by post-H control an action contrary to an individual's basic moral principles?_

_7. Can we guarantee total amnesia under any and all conditions?_

_8. Can we "alter" a person's personality? How long will it hold?_

_17. What are full details on a "sleep-inducing machine_.

This was the hypnotic sleep system they were trying on those two patients. Hijacking peoples brains to make them perform functions they wouldn't normally undertake in a lucid state of mind. This was scary stuff, if you thought about it. The military finding ways to reprogram people to perform certain functions, or find out how far they could go with completely reformatting a person's mind, and inducing amnesia in their subjects.

Which brings to light one of my original questions. Had Murkoff been trying to 'cure' the patients for further experimentation? It didn't make sense to perform all this 'dream' therapy on mentally disturbed people. That would be the equivalent of experimenting without a control group. What had they been trying to achieve here? Had the patients been a more suitable candidate than those with a solidly fixed and sane state of mind?

A starting ground, perhaps? Make mentally unstable people believe God exists, make them feel he exists and see where that goes. It's been the oldest belief of mankind, to the beginning of history man had a deep rooted desire to believe a higher entity was true and responsible for mortal man's fate, and bring others to share the dream. Through fear and devotion, belief could drive a man to do anything, even kill his own son.

If so, it might've worked too well. One question that dismantles this theory entirely though. In the security room, what did I witness kill the tactical cops?

* * *

><p><strong>I think Miles gets a little confused with his conspiracy theories...<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

The Dark

For some reason I didn't feel the rush of exhilaration I had hoped to achieve in reaching the exit. My mind might've been numbed by what I'd been through to allow such a mood, emotionally drained by the experience and horrors of what I had seen. It was such an empty sensation, completely robbing me what of I felt was deserved.

Closure.

But as with all matters tangled in Mount Massive's mockery, I was to be disappointed.

I hesitated, straining to pick out the odd sounds beneath the heavy rain. A flash of light clarified the grounds momentarily and I burned the image into memory. Overgrown grass obscured most of the pathways, a net of greasy branches stretched over the sky. I moved into the cold rain and the dark, stepping carefully down the slippery stone steps. Lightening flashed, and I thought something skittered past overhead. Impossible, given the image wasn't the best on the visor between the green tint and the heavy rain, there was nothing out here. As the flash fades, I could only see the brick path and the overgrown grass before me. I was the only living thing out here.

Or nearly so.

A beam of light cut through the downpour and the glossy branches, sweeping over the yard. There light was too bright on that side to confirm it, but it had to be 'Father' Martin. He's the only person I knew of that used a torch. Pretty sure. He was signaling me from across the yard.

I think if I had the chance, I'd like to strangle him. Get him caught in an elevator, or cut his fingers off with a pair of giant shears. The camera was getting low on power, had to move it.

Strange sounds echoed in the wind, snapping branches or something large crashing through the gaunt bushes along the cobblestone path. Sometimes I thought it was following me, but the rustle would soften at a distance or maybe the rain was picking up force. I ducked down when I thought Chris appeared, but it was only my imagination forming shapes in the NVs haze. No one was out here with me, just Murkoff staff cut up and sitting drenched on benches, staring with glazed eyes at the storm. Did they come out here to die, or did someone leave them like this?

I was soaked before I reached the fountain. So much for getting dry, at least rain was clean. That sound again, something shrieking in the night and I thought there was a form overhead, in the branches as they crackled. I tried to follow it with the camera, but my nerves gave and I whimpered as I knelt to crawl along toward the only visible light. It no longer signaled me. How long had Martin been out in this weather waiting for me? Not long enough.

Leaves scuttling along the ground spooked me, the way they played at the edge of the visor. I stopped in the downpour to get up, and fought to wrangle my breathing under control. My chest ached with my heart thudding in my chest, the wind picked up and I shivered into the soggy embrace of my coat. There was nothing out here but dead people and a psycho guy that fancied himself a priest.

I remained wary though as I moved up the steps, beneath a broken lamp blazing in the inky night. I had to change the batteries in the camera, a tricky choir in the rain. I crouched low and tucked the camera under my coat and popped out the old battery, then slapped in the new one. My camera was keeping me more alive at this point, rather than provide the evidence at my psycho evaluation. I had some difficulty slipping the strap back over my hand, my knuckle was a little swollen and I needed to loosen it in order to get it over. Once it was done I wouldn't need to worry over it for a while. Probably.

No one was waiting for me when I reached the top of the steps. Only the words scrawled in blood on the wall across from me

how alive are you

At my feet on the damp cobblestone and in a diluted puddle of blood, rested a file in a plain folder. Inside was a notepad tinged by the soaking rain, but enough of the note was illegible.

"_I don't even know your name. But I've come to think of you as one of my blood, my Paul, I hope you don't mind. And I hope you don't indulge the vanity of self-pity, the fear that your suffering is more than others'. We all must endure this, and you are nearly done. There's no way to heaven but by the cross. And every man needs another to help drive the nails in. I am here for you. I am waiting up ahead._"

This actually would have been really comforting, except at the end where he mentions the cross. If he thinks he's crucifying ME, I'll be more than happy to disappoint. I'll die before he gets ahold of me again. Fuck them all. I'm not going through all of this to wind up as some sacrifice!

I tossed the folder down and cautiously crept up the steps at the right to a wire fence, the door and frame wrapped with thick chains and padlocked tight. Stepping back, I examined the gate standing between me and presumed freedom.

In favorable circumstances I'd fly over a chain linked fence. What was it to me? An insult to my dexterity? Right now, too many factors worked against me to attempt the climb. The weather was bad, barbed wire at the top, don't mention my fingers, and I was bleeding again. It didn't look like there was much for me on the other side either, it this just led into another yard.

Damn, where do you have to go to get out of this place?

I judged the fountain to be a center piece of the yard, if that assessment was correct I would locate other pathways leading from it across the grounds. That would keep me from getting too lost, I was incredibly disoriented with the weather and all-consuming black. As I made the return trip, a light glittered in the distance between tree trunks and mist. I kept my attention locked on it while trying not to deviate from the path, it was tempting to tear across the yard if only to find the source.

Overhead the branches groaned and snapped, I ducked down as that noise returned, sounding like pellets in a pipe and shrieking with the crashing thunder. I dove off into the tall grass and kept low, listening and searching for what might be there. A shape slipped through the treetops, but the night blazed with green brilliance, blinding me through the NV. I turned my head down and realized my knees and shins were soaked in the icy mud, but I didn't care. I didn't want to move and alert whatever was out there to my location and have it come down on me screaming mad. I didn't want to see it, I didn't want to know what was there.

It was just getting to me, the weather and this feeling of isolation in the yard. It made me feel like something was out there stalking me, and only me. I needed to get into some shelter and dry off. Or just get out of this drumming rain for a bit.

I shuffled along ducking beneath the low twigs and pressing through soaked brush. I'm certain the path was at my back but I didn't want to find it just yet, I needed to stay hidden in the undergrowth until it felt safe. I'm not sure what I was hiding from but I needed to stay hidden from it. Recollections of the sewers, people shrieking behind the metal gates as an unseen force punished them. I exhaled a sharp breath and pressed my left hand over my face. Don't go back. Try not to think about it. I murmured something strange, a comforting sort of sound to reinforce my resolve.

I'll get out of this. But I have to keep moving.

Another gate appeared in my path, and I ran my hand carefully over the chain linked fence. A stone wall was built on the other side, crates stacked on the floor. There was a door in the wall. The gate was locked with chains—

The timber above snapped and fell onto my head, and that screech rang in my ear as though it were right beside me. I whirled away tearing through grass and sharp brush towards the stone fountain, not stopping until a light in a doorway appeared somewhere on my left. I flew to it not hesitating before I slammed into the door at full force, and flung it shut with a loud CRACK! I stood quivering under the light, dust swirled in the warm beam as I panted, gazed fixed on that door. The storm howled beyond the weathered wood, sounding eerily like human sobs. What the fuck had that been?

Power in the nightvision needed to be changed out. Already? I just changed the battery. Something was going on here. Much of the same that clung to this place, a lot I didn't understand and what I did get still made no sense.

I switched out the battery and looked at the small tool shed I had crashed into. Some basic things, a few shelves with paint cans, some pliers and wire cutters, and propane cans stacked by the door. There were a few hooks, and one had a silver key dangling on it. It had to be a key to somewhere, maybe one of the gates? I had to go back out there and search them all down. It could be done, but it would be time consuming.

Before heading out I gave my camera a quick evaluation, to make sure it was still in satisfactory working order. I rubbed off some of my bloodstains that had clotted on its side and checked some of the footage, in a dull state. It began to frighten me how little I reacted to my own terror in the night, as though I didn't care five minutes previously I'd been racing across the yard in a panic. I did forget my initial goal was to confirm the camera was still operational despite its abuse, but I'd fallen into a repetition of cycling through all its functions and struggling to adjust the color settings, despite the mechanical flaw caused by being thrown out of a fuckin window. I eventually gave up and stared at the visor as it recorded the floor of the shed.

Time to go.

The handle turned loosely in my hand and I pulled the door back, while keeping my shoulder by one side in case I needed to shove it close. I didn't have my camera up yet so all I could make out was the oily yard with its slumped shapes glimmering under the flash of electricity. The sky was a muddy expanse stretching over the tree tops, it seemed lower than the sky should be, barely brushing above the canopy of jagged timber. There was nothing hostile, nothing visible I wouldn't come to expect with the relentless storm. Complete silence but for the thick water and rumble of thunder.

It was eerie, after I had raced across the yard accustomed to the bizarre sounds, and suddenly there were none. For a moment, I was startled by a black shape hovering near the fountain, but in a flash of light it was gone. Just the guard slouched on the bench, on the other side of the yard. It was him I had seen, very dead and immobile, nothing could change my mind.

I returned to the gate beneath the light, where 'Father' Martin had left his message. I took the padlock but found I was wrong in my assumption. The key was thick, more along the lines of a skeleton key, and the padlock used the more modern thin keys. Damnit.

I climbed down the wall and walked along one side of the yard hunting for a door, or gate that would use the key. There had to be some sort around here, Martin left the key in the shed for me, the mystic bastard. Couldn't just leave doors open, has to lock me in and leave me to the mercy of his 'disciples.' This place was probably Satan's holiday house.

A light on the other side of the yard caught the visor, and I started in that direction in a casual jog. It sounded like a shape was shredding through the canopy overhead, I hunched down as I hastened my pace through a sharp gale of wind and rain. I doubt the light would deter it but the dark didn't seem to do much either. I shoved the key into the lock breathing a small sigh of relief when the latched clicked. My hand fumbled with the slick knob, scraping my finger in the process as I forced it open and threw it shut after me. I moved away from the door and fought back the trembles that clutched my body, just couldn't get myself under control. Beyond the wire door I thought there was a dark mass swimming through the storm, but a boom of thunder killed out any sound there might've been.

Focused and still, I waited for nothing. The water made a soft _pit-pat_ sound as it dripped from the edges of my soaked coat and chin, that gentle sound somehow overpowered the nightmare of the storm and what it concealed. I allowed myself one whimper as I let the tremors take me, tensing my muscles to block out some of the cold.

There was something out there and it was following me. I don't know how to explain it. I don't want to explain it. The very notion I couldn't comprehend this terrified me. What the fuck was it and what did it want?

My mind kept flashing back to the sewers, the wails and sobs of people dying. The sounds. Those sort that couldn't be replicated. They were the kind of sound a person made the moment death took them, and would never be repeated by that individual. Death throes.

I changed out what was once a battery at half-life, and put one with full power in. That should last me. Maybe.

It looked like some sort of greenhouse, or was once one until the asylum came to be in the early nineties. I moved away from the wall to distract myself with this place, this façade of reprieve. No plants were kept in here, just some pallets and materials for the grounds. Windows along the upper walls flashed with peculiar outlines, like faces watching through still portraits and the unsettling sensation that I was not alone and had never been alone in this place. Just nerves, I told myself. I was cold, soaked, and the lightening hid shapes as it revealed me to those same shapes I hid from.

I gave a loud sneeze and bit my tongue. Perfect.

Briskly, I moved out of the light, into the shadow of the doorway at the other end. I raised my camera and gave the crossing corridor a look over, before I stumbled out into someone. Smelt like people came in here to piss as though the yard was too good for them. In this weather, it might've been.

Looked like most of the material for reinforcing the doors had been hauled from this storeroom, it must've been stocked with lumber before the nightmare began. Two by fours and plywood were leaned against one side of the wall, and on the other was a shelf with a hammer and some dried out potted plants. Pieces of splintered wood lay across the stone path, and nails had been scattered to the sides. A radio had been abandoned on a shelf out here, but the batteries were not the right ones for my camera.

I turned to check what the other side might offer, and stepped through a doorframe into a spare shed. At the far end the exit awaited, nearly missed as I scanned the entrance, skittish as I was. I was spooked by the icy dots of rain that hit my face, only to realize there was a large hole in the roof above. I shut my eyes and exhaled trying to calm myself. Just the rain, it was just the rain. Though I was freezing, I didn't bother to move out from under it, as I looked over the room.

Thin boards lined the walls and some propane tanks were left stacked at the furthest corner. Shelves were dotted with eroded paint cans, and more tools to reinforce doors without restraint. Good to know all that hard work and sweat had paid off in the end. I could just imagine Murkoff freaking out, terrified by the things they created and not understanding any of it. Just trying to get barricades built, doors sealed, and then curl up in the darkest corner while they listened to their colleagues, abandoned outside, get pummeled by the big fucker. And he seemed like such an interesting man.

Slowly, I turned the handle of the door and pulled it open a crack to scope out. Tall brick walls extended from the building on either side, effectively boxing the path in. I heard a noise like… screeching. Nails on a chalkboard, or something? Thick bars stretched from the wall into the dark, at the current range of the NV I couldn't see how far.

A form in the dark. I'm not sure how to describe it, it was an outline at first, then it took a shape. It was insubstantial and had no face, just what looked like a head perched on a rib cage as it fluctuated and shrieked and… headed RIGHT TOWARDS ME!

It was right at my face before I slammed the door and braced my shoulder against the icy steel. A strangled cry came from my throat as my ribs crunched under the force. I didn't see that, what was it? That was impossible, it didn't walk, I didn't see its feet! It didn't have feet, it—

The door shuddered but it was too dark to see, what I could make out was through the visor quivering just beside my face. It… materialized, and crawled 'through' the crack under the door. I only caught glimpses of the fog, I was too lost in fortifying a barrier on something that was slipping beneath it like in a cartoon. This isn't possible, not possible! This isn't natural what's going on here! Was that its head? Was it looking at me?!

When it grabbed at my feet I charged out of there, crashing into the metal gate under the light before I recalled how doors worked. I fled across the yard stumbling through grass, bushes, and finally toppling over a bench I didn't see in the black veil of night. Somehow in my madness I fell to my good shoulder and skid across the stone path, terrible wails surrounded me in the gloom as the lightening blazed and the world came into momentary clarity. I envisioned the patients surrounding me, Chris Walker in the distance stalking through the yard. A shapeless form howled as it hovered over me, reaching out a twisted branch to crush my head.

Strange sounds curled around me, and I knew was making them. I tried to block it out as I twisted to rise but something was wrong, I rolled sideways and fell down again before my legs could carry my weight. Once I was mobile, I raced the rest of the way to a bright light shimmering in the distance like a salvaging beacon. It only occurred to me as I flew up the steps that it was the same Asylum that I had recently escaped. It was the last thought in my head as I barreled through the nearest door, into the dark and dry safety of this horrible place.

I didn't get a chance to fling it shut, my instincts screamed – flee, flee, escape, HIDE!

I crammed my body into the furthest corner between the bookcase and a desk. There I cringed, panting, shivering, wide eyed, and waiting for the thing to find me. I just couldn't understand what I saw. Couldn't comprehend it. I wasn't into the supernatural, I've never see shapes or heard voices….

Up until I came to this crazy place. How could I have been charging all over this messed up Asylum, and only now out in the yard I come across something vaguely supernatural. It didn't make sense. I felt like I just lost my mind. I was fuckin insane. Completely bonkers.

"_God help me, I think I've seen the Walrider._"

My ears are ringing. That shrieking snarl, when I was face to face with it…. I don't know what happened. There was a flash, I thought it was the lightening, but it felt like I suffered a sharp blow to the head. I thought I'd seen into its face, o god, inside its skull… I didn't feel right. Not bad, I didn't feel good either, but not bad, but something….something doesn't feel right. Like I lost something, or forgot something. Just my nerves, I'm shook up and cold, and probably not in the best of health with all the blood loss.

I wipe some of it from my hands, but with the heavy rain the clots can't hold. Couldn't stop here, had to push on. Find that proverbial light out of this hell hole. No 'illusion' of MKULTRA would stop me.

My legs felt soupy as I made the long trek back to the gate, the only route I knew that might offer a way out. Or lead someplace dry. It took some time to find the gate, I left the door wide open and became confused when I saw the smaller shed through the rain. After further searching, in which time I'm certain I was more lost than I should have been, I did find the greenhouse. I shut the door behind me and listened, primed to bolt if I saw it, or heard that unnatural call it generated. I couldn't fabricate the exact noise in my head, only that it was inhuman and terrifying.

The metal door was untouched, and still in one piece. It had been crawling 'under' the crack. How the hell?

As before, I opened the door slowly and strained to hear. Noises did come, illusions my mind conjured of screams as the thunder rolled, or the rustle of leaves beside the metal bars flipped about. I felt like I was losing my mind. Give me naked thugs, deformed giants, freak doctors with huge scissors - give me a ghost, massive nope factor right there.

I slid through the door and shut it behind me. On the ground swirled dark splotches in clear puddles, another one of Martin's markers for me. I had this insane thought that maybe it was hiding in the blood. What was I thinking anymore?

A soft hiss issued from the other side of the bars, and I threw myself against the set to the left when I thought it was coming back. I saw nothing, no vague outline, nothing. Just the blaze in the sky, sometimes I thought there was a corpse sitting in the distance, washed by rain, or was it the black outline of a tree framed by light? I couldn't tell anymore. If I kept moving, everything would be all right. If I waited, it would find me.

I turned the corner and stepped off the stone path into thick grass, with about an inch of water coating the soil. The mud clung to my shoes and weighted my feet, I wobbled but managed not to fall over. It was a challenge staying on my feet as it was, I didn't need to fall to my hands and stuff mud into the wounds.

A lamp blazed down into some sort of storage yard, from when Murkoff remolded the place for reopening. A lot of materials they couldn't get rid of such as concert barriers and pallets were sorted and stacked. I ducked back from the halo of light when the brittle timber above snapped and dropped into the grass, not far from where I hid. I raised the camera and kept low listening as the sounds moved off, a soft tinkling of metal pellets echoed from the distance. The same sounds I heard in the sewers, when I thought I saw shadows.

Beside the lamp was a ladder fixed against the brick wall. I fastened the camera in its hoister and started up, keeping a tight grip each step I pulled up. The heavy downpour coupled with my muddy shoes made the exercise a difficult one, I nearly lost my footing twice before I had a suitable rhythm down. Overhead, jagged bolts crossed over the black sky, blinding me briefly but I held my climb steady. I've done this hundreds of time, the weather just complicated the task.

The ladder ended abruptly, or it seemed to when I couldn't see how far I had to climb. I crawled onto the roof of the greenhouse, or whatever the building was and fumbled for my camera. I bit the edge of my lip when I tried to force my hand through the strap and wound up jamming my finger on the thick material instead. Carefully, I slid my fingers under the loop and gripped the camera tightly in my hand, trying to ease out the knot of pain rolling in my knuckle. I tasted blood but I think it was worth it, distracting myself momentarily from everything else.

I used my left hand to steady myself as I stood and stepped up the remainder of the slant, onto the flat surface of the roof. It was comprised of wooden shingles roughed by hours of sun and harsh winters, easy to keep traction on even with the thick runoff. I focused on the visor of the camera as I stepped along, the power is more than half done with. A flicker of light reveals the shattered portion of the roof, for which I gather a short dash before I make the leap. In a surge of brightness that follows, I nearly stagger back from a shape below my line of sight, but it's solid and thin and not the thing in the dark.

A man sits on the roof of the greenhouses entrance. I must've looked like a lunatic to him, running everywhere in the dark and hiding in the glass. Or, was he watching it too? He's emaciated and stares into the unyielding storm, silent and still, aside from the brief movement of his hand scratching at his chin. Beside him sits a small walkie-talkie.

I shuffle to the low section of the roof, eyes fixed on him should he realize my presence. I kneel low and reach beside him to pick up the small device without disturbing his watch. My camera is already dimming, I toss the depleted battery aside and put in the one I've just picked up. It's dead as well, which would explain why he's not listening for chatter. I toss that battery as well and put in one of my own.

Half dead, but it'll do.

I pull myself back up to the roof and resume my way. The path comes to an end, above the curl work of barbed wire topping a fence below. As I glance around, I'm certain someone has screamed out there in the yard, but I can't decide which way only that it sounded painful. On my left there's a decorative ledge running along the Asylum's wall, the opposite of which direction I'm almost certain that shrill originated. I step back and get up some speed before leaping. When I hit, my shoes skid over the water coating the slick cement, but I keep on my feet.

Another roof was not far from the ledge to the left, I walk over to it keeping the camera firm in my grip as I leapt to the soaked wood without issue. In the branches I pick up the crackle and rustle of something, but I can never see a definite shape. I pause to crouch down and film open air and the rain, until the echoes have either faded or my mind ceased to fabricate them.

I push myself back to my feet and continue, barely three steps before I reach a piece of plywood lain down bridging the roof to some scaffolding. More evidence of Murkoff's attempted repairs before everything went to shit. Some boards are set over the short space, which I cross as I constantly search the ground and the canopy. It feels like the sounds are following me. I'm almost elated by the notion, despite the pulsing in my veins. Did I want to see it again? I don't think so. But I was curious. The initial shock had worn away, and every scuttling noise I thought was the thing in the dark terrified me. But it also teased my inquisitive nature. I teetered on a delicate and dangerous line, if I drew to near the sun it would burn me. But I couldn't help myself. I wanted to forget why it frightened me, and learn why I should be frightened by it. My heart thumped with the acuity, just a glimpse of the shadow to know I wasn't losing my mind.

I step from the short structure of scaffolding, onto a flat cement ledge. There's no other direction to take, the ground below I can barely find without the zoom. To my right is a thin gutter line, a possible path I'm not comfortable to attempt in the fierce weather. But I could manage it. I set my heels against the wall and shuffle out testing my stability, the edge ends just beneath my toes but I press my back against the cold brick and chance it. I have my camera crammed under my chin at an awkward angle to avoid bumping the wall with my elbow. I can barely keep my balance, and see enough just through the visor this way.

As I slipped around a sharp corner, my leg nearly gives out and I slip a bit but catch myself by pushing off the wall a fraction. I sway in the open air as the wind tugs at my drenched coat, if I budge I will fall and snap my leg, or something worse. It will be painful. I let my body sway until my back gently touches the brick wall, then I continue, shuffling slower this time. The small path ends on a large cement ledge, I drop to my knees to catch my breath. A set of planks awaits a few feet from where I lean over, appearing very sinister in the flash of light and the crack of thunder that follows.

The noises around me have calmed somewhat, and it's just the rain and I. This doesn't comfort me, though it should. I feel unsettled, like the eye of the storm. Using my camera I search for my next heading and zoom in on a slanted roof a short distance, beyond those unassuming planks. I return to my feet and secure the camera in my grip, I take a short dash before I leap.

When I hit, my foot slips over the rain cascading off the rough planks and I topple sideways. I clutch the camera to my chest and jam my elbow against the slant, twisting around to force my body parallel with the edge. I shove my feet against the friction and hold, until I've stopped completely. The night feels cold and silent, except for the rain drumming on my face generating its soft prattle. Water gathers at my side where I've blocked it, filling my coat and jeans with the frigid liquid. I'm so cold.

After a minute I collect my senses and inch away from the edge of the roof, until I can flip over and get up on my hand and knees, and crawl to the top.

When I make it to the other side, I'm dismayed to find no other path to take. This should be good news, but I preferred being someplace high where I couldn't be reached. I examined the distance to the floor from the roof before I put my camera away, then lower myself from the edge of the roof by my hands. A light shining from a pole above cut through the dark, offering some visibility before I dropped to the cobblestone floor. Some crates had been left beneath the roof, as though to protect them from the elements. Steps lead a few feet down towards a dead guard, and a steel door I bet would be locked.

I made my trip down to confirm this belief, and to get out of the rain for a bit. At times it felt colder sheltered from the constant pummel than wandering through it. The guard has nothing worthwhile on his person, not even a candy bar. Not that I want one, but I was thinking about it.

Up a set of steps on the opposite side, sat some neglected sawhorses and another collection of pallets. Otherwise, another dead end. I climbed over the short wall, down to where the ledge sheltered the small walkway and where the guard sat. I could see a path to take if it led anywhere worthwhile, a stack of pallets across from me was fixed beside a dumpster, both positioned under a cut out in the fence. The sounds came again, rattles in the pipes or a frail cylinder cast by the strong wind. I shrank into my coat but didn't bother to raise the camera or seek out the source, I'm not certain at that particular moment what I was thinking, other than I needed to move.

I raised my right hand to my face and blew in my palm, to get some of the chill from my fingers. It wasn't very effective, but the warmth did ease the pain a little. That same sensation came over me, the jolt to my head or some kind of vertigo. I shut my eyes and let the feeling pass, I kept repeating in my head 'keep moving, keep moving' but I wasn't ready. I just wanted to stand out of the rain and stare at nothing, maybe wait for the storm to pass, but I know by the time it did, it would be too late for me. The wind slid under the ledge and I gave in, crossing to the pallets and climbing up to the fence. I couldn't fathom who might have cut the wire, a few pairs of wire cutters and a chainsaw had been missing from the toolshed. I was screwed if Chris Walker was out here with the chainsaw.

I was still so fuckin lost. You'd think I'd be able to find my way around outside, without the walls and abundance of locked doors, but no. I was somewhere, maybe in the backgrounds of the Asylum. I couldn't locate a feasible way out of this place, had to keep heading around searching for one of the locked gates to the front. There had been a few I looked at before finding that shattered gate, but there was the staff parking I had viewed on the one side.

"Have to get out…."

I stopped as I turned the corner. On the ground lay a patient, by a steel door pinned with boards. I gave the handle a rattle and it clanked hollowly on the other side, but the screws in the stone kept it from budging. The patient seemed wounded or sick, I gave him his distance as I moved around to the only route visible. Fence on one side, fuckin big building on the other.

When I reached my jeep I was going to crank up the heat, tear off my coat, and just get my skin warm. And comfortable warm, not hot, not inferno, not hell hot, just warm. I was beginning to loose feeling in my fingers and toes, I was soaked to the bone, and I just didn't feel right. My head was still ringing from when the thing screamed at me, it might've damaged my eardrums. My hearing seemed fine, just that humming I couldn't stand. Felt like it was in my nerves.

There was another door, up some steps on the right. Same as the previous, locked solid. Don't know why I bothered checking, force of habit. I did want to get some place dry for a bit, but anyplace in Mount Massive I'd soon come to regret. Miserable place this was, would never wish it on my worst enemy because, I'm not that kind of guy.

Trager's too good for my enemies.

The lightning blazed and I spied another tall fence ahead, with a patient plastered to it shuffling against its side. I observed him through the visor as I approached, he seemed near oblivious to me. "I can see his ghost."

What was it they were so fixated to find out here? When I was close enough to see him clearly, I found that he had been coddling the gate for so long his face was a bloody mess and his nose was missing.

It reminded me of lizards in the pet store, if they wanted to get out they'd rub their nose on the bars until their lip had worn away. Pitiful to see a human like this, out here in the rain.

For a span I recorded beyond the fence, to pick up what it was he saw or to confirm my doubts, I wasn't sure. Sometimes I thought there was something, a glimmer and shift in the lens, the film was always clear and never faltered. I could hardly remember what it was I thought waited out there, only that it could stare back, and this made me uneasy. The patient mumbled something as he moved closer to me, and I only recalled that we were standing completely exposed to the storm.

Well, I realized I was standing in the rain. I didn't bother the other man as he sought to see his delusions.

The fence ended at a wall, to which brick stairs led to a higher patio. Across from the steps two benches were poised, on one sat a man in a straightjacket and chemical scarring marred his face. His eyes glistened in the NV when he noticed me. I turned to climb the steps, halfway up he called after me,

"Be as one of us."

I hurried to the upper level through an open gate, one of the first in a long while. Blood and gore was in my immediate path, I continued in that direction passing various guards and doctors of Murkoff, in a splattered display of death. It looked like they had fallen out from somewhere, their bodies twisted and guts spilling out and glass everywhere. Had they been thrown out of a window? Or had they found their own way out?

The door across from the dead had a plate reading Prison Block and the doors had been boarded up. The most opportune way out for some of them, I suppose. I located another open area in the fence, a few pallets stacked to give a clear step up over the sharp edge. A bolt streaked across the sky illuminating the immediate area, but below the light could not reach but for the thin tree limbs reaching high.

Before I risked getting lost in that lower area, I returned to where the gate entered the patio space, and took the path that had been open on my left. It was a large area beneath an eve, where I could get some time away from the storm. A few old drums, possibly gasoline like the ones in basement, had been discarded here. The walls had tall, thin windows cloaked by tattered curtains, I could make out no sign of cracks of wear to indicate anyone might have tried to escape this way. Bags of trash had been discarded by a large dumpster, and before it stood a man in a straightjacket struggling to get out.

The dumpster, after the stagnant decay that had been shoved into my sinuses, smelled wonderful in the cold storm. But the linger of rot was here, and blood had pooled at the patients feet.

"Bleed for me."

It was time to leave.

I climbed the pallets and braced myself for the fall before I let myself down, the soft earth compressed under my weight, but the jolt still traveled up my ribs. I stepped away grunting and stretching to get the soreness from my muscles, I was moving through the tall grass before I had my camera up.

The front grounds had really been let go, but this was beyond neglect. Thick bushes grew everywhere catching my pants and whacking my fingers as I navigated what seemed to be the clearest path, but everything was overgrown. The grass was up to my chest, and large concrete blocks dotted the yard, hidden until I was directly upon them. A thin vapor spilled from them, maybe from the lower levels of the Asylum, the basement? I turned my camera to examine the interior and found thick metal bars, and a warm draft that lifted from within.

I'm sure the yard might have been open to the better behaved patients during good days, but when Murkoff took over the patients never had 'field' days. They only needed to keep the front lawn looking decent for appearances, and let everything else go to hell. There were even pallets and large propane tanks stacked along the wall. Even for an asylum, this place must have looked nice when things were kept neat. But Mount Massive was shut down for scandal, so there was no telling if this place ever had 'nice days.'

The grass began to thin out as I neared a small pool of water in the middle of the yard, with a charming little bridge built over it. Large stones had been set to boarder the small pound, but even in the dark I could identify the thick grime that grew along the waters edges. If not for the rain cloaking the miasma of still water, I imagined it wouldn't be all that lovely.

Labored breathing pressed through the drone of rain, alerting me to duck down or be seen. There was no guarantee I wouldn't be seen. A blaze of lightning followed threatening to reveal my location out of spite, and in it I saw the shape of the big fucker as he wandered the yard.

It would've been too good if he didn't show up. I knew something was wrong.

Without hitch he continued on his way, pausing to glance over his shoulder as I paced through the water gently. It wasn't very deep, but he would pick out the odd sound given the contrast to the persistent shower. I paused with the bridge between us, the big fucker looked in the other direction and began that way. I breathed out a soft whine, even as the sky lit up with another blaze. The big fuckers back was still to me, I was safe for now.

I checked the camera as the light dimmed. Another battery went in, my last one, a full one. I had no idea how much further I had to go out here, but for the time I needed to see.

There was no indication of where to go, but for some light up at the top of a stack of pallets and propane tanks. Chris couldn't climb after me, he could fall after me, but he was a shit climber. At least, he's never jumped up after me, yet. For all I knew he could fly.

As quietly as I could muster, I sprint over to the stack and pulled myself up. I heard no sound from the big guy, he must still be enjoying the weather. I slipped up to the high ledge, another one of those tall thin windows greeted me, but of escape there was no evidence. I wasn't too keen on going into the Prison Block anyway.

A small rain trail led along the wall to the left. The water wasn't washing over it quite so hard, but I had to take the awkward angle with my camera again to keep from losing my balance. I'd prefer to put my camera away and not risk dropping it, but it was more disorientating being unable to see where my feet were and the wall pressed into my back.

I passed over a fence topped with coiled barbed wire and came to another sharp corner, on the edge of the building. Rather repeat my earlier slip, I stuffed the camera in its pack and carefully lowered myself sideways. Little by little in the dark, until my right hand touched the ledge. I made sure I had my hand on it before I pivoted, and dropped, snapping my left hand onto the edge as well, and let my weight settle on my arms. A small grunt snapped from my throat as my ribs sang in pain, but I wasn't falling backwards this time. I strafed along the wall, turning the corner easily and kept going until I felt the path at my hands end.

I pulled the camera free and checked what was under me. Just the floor, it was a distance from my feet but not far enough to break my legs. I let myself drop and turned, wary of my surroundings and what may be lurking. The sky blazed causing me to cringe down, in the resulting flare I thought there were shapes closing in but through the visor I saw nothing too hostile. Nothing alive at any rate.

There was a small gazebo near the center of the yard, with steps leading up to it. The aged wood creaked underfoot as I moved around the center, benches were situated around a small garden area full of black dirt and twigs, at one point it was probably filled with flowers or a hedge. What looked like a doctor was laying on one bench, his coat tinged with dampness and his back to me. I didn't bother with the body and kept moving. I crossed over and crept down the steps, back into the tall grass and into the dismal rain.

Overhead twigs crackled and fell, I crouched low scanning the lens along but couldn't locate the cause. It could have been the limbs heavy with water after a long drought, they sometimes snapped during a heavy rainfall, but that seemed like such a pissy excuse. I wiped the water from my face and cringed at the sensation of my missing finger, I was not getting used to that any time soon. I picked myself up and continued, slowly as I listened for more movement, my camera scanning the dark sky as lightning flared. It seemed to have moved off for now, if there was ever anything there. Maybe I was just as cuckoo as the patients, and seeing things in the dark. Suggestion was a powerful tool.

There was nothing to guide me, no remarkable land marks that I could identify aside from the gazebo. The stone paths were so overgrown with weeds, it was impossible to distinguish them from the tall grass. I just kept going, relying on the fence that surrounded this area to direct my way. Maybe I'd find a place where patients had escaped from. Or maybe they already had, there was the break in the fence I first came through, that led to the open window. Wasn't there a document that referred to them as 'environmental contamination?' It still sounded wrong.

It seemed to take an hour or almost to get around the yard, stopping every so often at shapes in the visor, static in the camera, sounds in the woods. Not animal sounds, but the strange chatter and wail of the thing I could not describe. Lurking somewhere and watching me clearly as I staggered through the unforgiving foliage. At some point I did find my way around, into an area I thought led into the woods, but instead a patient was staring back at me from a cobblestone path. It startled me, and I staggered away.

I knew my hands were bleeding again but I couldn't bear to turn the camera and view the damage. My blood felt as thin and cold as the rain, but I'm certain it was my blood. It had a differing consistency than to water streaming over my skin, but I refused to check.

Finally, at long last I spotted a light source. I could hardly believe it but I moved towards it, my battery was getting low and I couldn't be stumbling blindly around in the dark. The harsh brush tore at my shoulders and hands as I made my way towards what looked like a wall, or walls on either side topped with chain wire fence. A set of steps led down into a lower area, maybe another basement. There was evidence to indicate this as a possibility but I doubted it. I didn't care where the stairs led either, I just needed the reassurance of a firm direction. The sky blazed with a wild flash, blinding me momentarily before I saw a pair of eyes glimmer in the dark.

Shit!

I spun away racing back along the fence as Chris gave a howl of rage, initiating the chase. Where had he come from? Was that a gate to the connecting yard? I didn't care to know, my concentration was absorbed in not buckling under my terror. Branches slashed at my torn fingers in my frenzied escape, it sounded as though he was close behind me. I turned my head to check, running right into a tree that knocked me down and slapped the camera from my loose grip.

"You got nothing left to live for." He was right on top of me. Where was my camera?

The tall grass had hid the bright visor, but not well enough. I snatched it up as the big fucker came crashing into my vicinity, the chains clinked very close to my face in what might've been a grab attempt. I lunged just out of his path and saw, in a beam of lightning the gazebo. He can't climb! He can't climb!

I was just beyond his reach as I clambered up the rail and flopped over the side, I groaned as my ribs pulsed with pain but it bought me a moment. He shoved his arm through the gaps in the rail, but the chain caught on the rotten boards preventing him from grabbing my scalp as I lay stunned. But I wasn't safe yet. With a nasally snarl, Chris charged around toward the steps. I lifted my camera and watched through the NV feed as he set his dead gaze on me.

I rolled to my feet, and threw myself over the rail to sprint in the direction I thought that light had been. Chris swung himself over the rail, I know this because I felt the ground tremble when he came down. I kept on my feet locating the steps and shot down them, taking the corner on my right and stumbled down more steps and nearly toppled forward. The deep rumble of the big fucker echoed on the confining walls, he would be on me in the next instant.

At the corridors end was what looked like a wall, its appearance draining the remainder of my blood… until I caught sight of the lower side. The cement had been chiseled out and rebar ripped back. I knelt down and crawled through, as Chris gave his disapproving roar at my neck. I hadn't stopped yet to flaunt it, I was on my toes running up the narrow corridor back into the storm. An open and better kept yard greeted me at the top of the slop, but I didn't stop to admire it.

Across the yard a large set of double doors waited, boarded tightly with planks and plywood, tall glass framed the sides spilling comforting light onto the grass. I still raced into them and tried the handle, confirming this was not for show. The plate beside the door read Female Ward, though I wasn't sure of this. I knew there were female patients involved with MKULTRA and the sleep therapy, but it wasn't clear to me if they were involved with Project Walrider.

It was asking too much that I would never find out. But due to the wandering patients and contamination, I think I should have seen women by now. Or… could I not recognize them as being female? My head ached from the revelation, I needed to get out of the rain. I was borderline hypothermia, I had to get dry.

If I couldn't find my way out of this yard soon, I didn't doubt the big fucker would find his way to me. I walked along the fence that stretched from the building, and found an opening into another yard. A fountain sat in the center surrounded by benches, the strong stench of copper from it overpowered the open air. I had turned the NV off, but the camera was still running, it always was. I stared at the garden piece full of blood, so much I couldn't be sure if there ever was water in it to begin with. The heavy rain drops hit the surface, but the thick black clots held tight. I immediately felt sick and took a moment to sit down at a bench, off to the side.

"_So much blood in the water I can smell it. Like putting a penny in your mouth when you were a kid. The whispers are making more sense, I'm looking for static. It's like an itch._"

I stuffed the pen and notepad back in my pocket, and stood to resume the search of the lawn. Some fresh air would help, put some distance between this grotesque shallow red pool and myself. Get it off my mind if only for a second.

Steep hills lead up to high fences and what must have been the brick walls of the outer courtyards, polished and slick with rain and higher than the Tower of Babel. Was there no way out of this place? Did the world outside cease to exist?

Stupid thoughts. Miles, you idiot. Keep it together, I'm gonna make it out of this. Just takes time. Stay alive, and find that way out.

I returned to the fountain. Bodies bled out, in all manners of decay, on this side the wind picked up enough to give me a whisper of the spoil that seeped from the corpses. A still functioning lamp spilled light on the poisoned well. I didn't feel safe standing in the open like this. But I turned the camera anyway to sounds in the trees overhead, and the odd outline of something at the roof. Or was it another of Murkoff, ready to end it all and escape this hell?

I walked along the wall of the building to get out of the rain for a moment. Stacks of pallets had been neglected here, like much of all Murkoff's tools, as its people. The light above reflected off glass, but one window failed to cast its sheen. I jogged over and examined it from the ground, before I hauled myself up the precarious stack of pallets to the high window.

That sickening-familiar scent of old moldering wood, rank dust, and the trace of sweet humid rot swept over me as I entered through the shattered frame. The new reek of scorched, sodden wood saturated the air. At the edges of the NV I could catch glimpses of walls tinged in charcoal, where the fire had reached forth to spread.

Damn it, how did this happen? Like a tar pit, the more I fought the harder I stick.

There was nothing on my left, just glassed in walls around some office or lobby. Thinking on it, that might be the barred entrance of the Female Ward. The dust within was thick enough I could view it settling over a neglected wheelchair, tipped sideways. It was a depressing sight. I turned to my right, clinging to the lamps outside the windows to offer some guidance as I shut off the NV for a short while. I was ready to raise it if something caught my attention, or if that haunting wail returned. I shivered as a light pierced through collapsed beams, slanted across my path. I looked up to what must've been an upper floor and its doorway before the fire spread, all of it black charcoal and some of it cinder now. Steam was still rising from some of the white ash of the timber causing the air to fog thickly, but the light cut through blinding me briefly.

It was Father Martin, nested in a doorframe of the second floor, flashing his light to signal me. This was getting old.

"You saw the Walrider, didn't you?" He gave pause as I moved closer, presumably into his line of sight. I adjusted my collar ready to cover my nose with it, but postponed the action to glance around and turn my gaze back up to him. I tilt my head, only vaguely interested in what he had to preach. "You're beginning to understand, but not yet." He gestured his finger upward, dramatically. "Even Abraham had to cast his eyes to the ground. But soon, soon. This way. Revelation is at hand." With his speech concluded, he spun away and disappeared beyond the gate.

Okay, thanks. How was I supposed to get up there?

* * *

><p><strong>Big Thank yous to all my readers and reviewers. It really does mean a lot to me when you take the time to say "Awesomes" or "Error 404 Miles is broken" I aim to keep this up and keep you entertained. But please don't stay up too late, and don't forget your homework *shot*<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

The Ghost

I guess I was following Martin Archimbaud. My efforts to locate a means of escape had presented no progress of what I could see. I was on the ground floor once more but two fingers short.

I gave a sharp shudder recalling the memories. I was still dripping cold water but the draft for the moment didn't bother too much, this would change as the barrier of water drained from my clothes

Sooner or later I would find the exit, if I kept after Martin I might have an easier time with this. But I had doubts, the previous message "…every man needs another to help drive the nails in," lingered in my thoughts. He was bat shit crazy and if he intended to let me wander around learning my sins before killing me, I was at a sever disadvantage. I needed to constantly remind myself Martin had no problem navigating the Asylum's twisted halls, and could surprise me at any turn. He wouldn't catch me off guard again. Never.

If I kept him in front of me, if I kept him in sight then he couldn't surprise me. He might lead me to the exit after all, but I would exercise caution. He was up to something and I couldn't understand his plans. Not yet.

There had to be a stairway or someway to climb onto the second floor, from there 'Farther' Martin would guide me to the next location. A little sense of direction would clear my head, it ached from the cold and getting dragged through the storm. Or I was coming down with something at long last. Just had to hold together till I got far away from here, far down the road. I could reach the nearest town, call the authorities and get some protection. I had no idea if any of Murkoff brass survived, I wasn't taking any chances.

The floor boards creaked as I stepped to the left, away from the comforting pattern of light hitting the murky windows. My last battery was at half power but it'd hold. I tried not to recall navigating the sewers void of the capacity to see. I needed batteries but I had no idea where I was going or where going would take me.

A large ornate archway into a hall, for starters. I could feel a faint draft over my brow as the water dried, hairs on my scalp prickled and stuck up. I rubbed my sleeve over my forehead as I tilt around the corner and checked. No hostile sounds, but there was the ever present distant howl of someone in agony. Outdated hall, large, antique in structure from a distant past when places fitted style. They must've been nice in the summer while the rooms lacked desirable airflow.

Light filtered through the windows to the halls right, it was another dead end if the door there was indeed boarded up as tightly as it looked. I tried the double doors I passed on the way, barely beating an eyelash that they were locked. My focus was already on the shape slumped against the plaster wall, a dark puddle dried under the body. Just another patient, throat torn open, and holding a walkie-talkie.

I lowered the camera and stared at the corpse. A number of documents already had shed light over the concept of taking staff, and processing them as patients. As of yet, the few people that had expressed some remnants of sanity remained identical to the scarred variants roaming the Asylum. Broken people. No different than the countless loonies lost in the dark. But… had some of them found each other and taken walkie-talkies to keep in contact, in the hope of locating a way out together? The idea spurred some small flame in my chest, but that was snuffed out instantly. I had seen no living person utilizing a communicator. They were dead like everyone else, or getting there.

I lowered my eyes as I knelt to pry the walkie-talkie from the stiff fingers and checked the batteries. Just the one. It wasn't worth the discovery.

I touched the handles of the two doors as I passed on my return. I needed just the minute distraction though I kept my eyes locked on my path. A cart and a crushed door lay in the hall, a small crisis to avoid. I avoided the small puddle of water in the beneath, or was it blood? It was difficult to tell and I didn't really want to know. Out of the left side of my vision I thought something flittered, out the gate door.

I hovered beside the corner on the right, certain I had seen movement, at the same time hoping there was nothing just around the corner at my back. The distant pat pat of blood dripped somewhere, but no sounds to indicate a living person. I strained to see through the gate into the room I had previously gone through, still empty from what I could make with the light. It could be following me, whatever my brain insisted was there, but I didn't want that paranoia in my head. I had established long ago I was losing it.

The steady lull was peculiar after the hour I spent racing through the storm, to return to the quiet, dry space of the asylums cradle. It felt unsettling, though I couldn't understand why. I was aware at any turn a man with a club might be posed in wait, or some other indescribable horror squatting and ready to spring out at me. What did I fear most in this place? Not my own death, though I was disturbed by my waning mortality.

I dismissed my doubts and edged around the wall, eased enough to resume. I set my feet carefully on the loose floorboards, it felt like my feet were perched on a thin layer of air. As I progressed deeper into the shadows, the door at my left thudded and crackled. I took a few steps back and knelt, only able to watch and wait. The door looked about ready to snap at the moment, but it held. I did scoot back some distance for good measure. Eventually, it did cease and the air settled, but I was still sliding behind the corner, leery if whoever was there might give one last hooray and succeed. It'd be my luck.

I took a few breaths to settle my rapid heart and shuffled forward, on my hand and knees. At the edge of the NV there was something and gone, I was sure. A face, a fading image in bright static, but no sound. Just the impression of a shape in my mind. My breath quivered as I exhaled, I needed to calm down, I didn't need to be seeing things that weren't there.

Another boarded up set of duo doors on my right. I began to wonder what Murkoff had been trying to lock up. Groups of patients all together, or had they been trying to quarantine the Walrider before it was apparent how impossible that was? What would I find in these rooms if I got one open? Something in my gut told me I didn't want to know.

The same reverberation I heard in the laundry room, when the cafeteria was burning. I tried not to think back on such things, especially now that my head had such an ache from the stress. The rattle sound of pellets, or marbles, spills down a chute. I followed the sound, every time I turn the camera there are dark shapes. Patients in the distance, sometimes the camera caught movement but when I looked I saw only shadows retreating. I paused on my knees briefly to evaluate my surroundings.

The hall extended further to another boarded up door, and a broken chair. I wouldn't bother with the trip. Overhead and just beyond the doorframe on my left, a loud thud shook the floorboards, I looked up as soot drifted down from the masonry. After a short quiet, the muffled howl of someone rolled out before a sudden bang. I imagine the receiver was either hurt or dead, or worse.

Somewhere, the rattle persisted, the clatter and reverberations of metal clacking rhythmically. Dust was heavy around my head, drying out my eyes but I fought not to blink. Things there I didn't want to see.

I got on my feet but stayed by the wall as I moved, the familiar sound was coming through the walls, muffled, but clearer than I had heard it earlier. I pushed a small cart out of the way and tensed as the wheels gave a high squeak. After a brief pause I continued, always checking over my shoulder with every step. The hall was nearly silent, and the boards groaned out every other sound, it would be difficult for someone to rush up on me. But they might catch me off guard if I was lost in my concentration.

Shelves and desks had been crammed into the corridor, a few of the cracked chairs I was able to pull out to allow easy passage. The cut in my back still seeped blood, but with my jacket drying it and shrinking it would seal the wounded tissue up. It was going to be fun getting my shirt off later, if it wasn't imbedded with the skin and blood.

Ugh.

At the far end of hall on my right, in the cracked windows of the wall I caught movement of a figure as it walked by. It looked shirtless, couldn't tell if it was the big fucker or his sick twin. Before the night was over I'd probably figure it out. The grating pellets were getting louder, my anxiousness to discover the source aggravated me. I felt some great urgency to press on, as though discovering its origins may clear some mystery that clung to this place. Or maybe I was done with it all.

Broken glass was scattered on the floor and over the table. I didn't bother with the door further down on the right, instead I hastened to climb onto the table and perched in the shattered window. This was where the sound was, the source of the trickle rattles. I slipped down into the room, careful as I set my wounded hand down on the glittering shards. The air was sour, a touch of outdated chemicals prevailed despite the years.

Another laundry room with shelves and supplies lining the walls. I climbed off the next table and slipped between chairs lined up along it. So many chairs collected along the walls, for the staff to sit as they worked folding tunics at the tables. Large washing vats were stationed at the wall across from me. I walked over to them and watched a strange obstruction churn in the nearest one. I watched and listened to the odd sound as it clicked and sputtered, the vibrations causing a dull throb to move from my forehead to the back of my neck, somewhere above my spine. My scalp tingled and I felt, it felt like I was seeing some sort of pattern in the dust kicked up. A shape that felt stamped in the back of my skull. The veins in my eyes pulsed causing colors to wash over my sight, and a surge of vertigo weighted my stomach down.

I couldn't bear it anymore and whirled away, to sit at a table and let my senses clear. It took precious time but I was too nauseous to risk standing.

"_The sound in the machine, like the sound in my head when the Walrider appeared. I blink and I see static, something else. Something oily and dark descending behind my eyelids. Watching me with organs I can't imagine. But the sound is coming from the machine, too. From inside the walls. I know that sound…."_

Sleep deprived, scared out of my mind, body mutilated — I was losing my wits. What had the Father said, they all must endure this? I was almost done, what did that mean? How much trauma did they want me to suffer before I could escape?

Felt truly like I was at the mercy of psychos, moving around me just out of sight, watching my every action with some sick pleasure. Controlling my progress and where I was to go, my life was out of my hands. I've never felt so powerless in my whole life, not ever. A fuckin toy for lunatics, infatuated with their fairytale monster that murders at its whim.

But I had see it, hadn't I? I was aware of what they were telling me. Couldn't get around it. No. No…I wasn't certain what I had seen. Shadows. They creep along my peripheral, I turn but nothing's there. Could be people, hopefully nothing but my fractured mind spilling paranoia.

Light gushed in from the doorway, I peered around the frame almost expecting a line of blood filled tubes and a man bathing a corpse. The hair prickled along my collar at the memory. Thank god there was nothing but laundry baskets and filthy linen to frown upon my presence. I slid along the wall towards what must have been another closet toward the left side of the room. I smacked the door open, probably not the smartest move, but I was not having any of this shit. Shelves had been pinned in the corners, and a wheelchair crammed beside a space in the wall. A battery sat placid on the seat, which I took. I had this off feeling I'd need them soon. As I passed through the room, I made note of the small access elevator in the wall. It reminded me of the dumbwaiter, which did not bring good memories to my head. Just made it pulse more.

The exit was already open, I held the edge as I peered around the frame on either side scanning for the usual shadows. I found a plaque that read Stairs with an arrow indicating to the left. A light source awaited in that direction. Stairs would lead to 'Father' Martin, and more cryptic riddles.

I tried to fit together the pieces I already had, the parts I had witnessed firsthand, had I actually witnessed them and my report could be credible. The documents I recorded, the reports made, what the patients stated they had witnessed.

All of it swirled in my head. The belief and the theories, and what Murkoff must have been trying to achieve before it turned on them. What the patients came to believe, and that not being Murkoff's intentions, only the aftermath of the process. Too many holes yet left in the story, burned out by corporate cigars as the larger business fed on their staff. The pyramid topples if the underlings can't support the stress.

I ventured to the right first, the area was visible from where I stood and a bright light shown on the black and white tiled floor. As I approached the doorway, a loud crash came from the upper floors followed by rapid footfalls. The resulting collision caused the light to dim and flash out, plunging the corridor I was in, into darkness. I was not assured by the amount of batteries I was carrying but bottom line, I was safe in the dark. I listened for a moment, confirming I wouldn't bump into anyone that might be in the next room startled by the sudden dark.

Beyond the doorframe was a smaller room, with a hall extending around boxing the area in. Desks and chalkboards were set up inside the windowed walls, suggesting a sort of school for the patients. I could almost see them at the edges of my vision, still in the chairs listening to the instructor. I shook my head, and continued to the other side of the room. I thought I heard voices, not rightly there in my presence but soft murmurs as someone explained simplistic reasoning. I felt a dull pulse behind my eyes as I tried to focus, struggled to define if I was hearing a patient or imaging this.

The hall curled around, one end leading to a dead end blocked with lockers with metal doors torn off and blood splattered on the floor. No body, just the indication of foul play. I followed the hall back around to the opposite side and found stairs beyond an open gate. The stairs led up a few feet but the fire had destroyed most the upper portion, making it impossible to leap across. The air higher up was heavy with the overpowering charcoal and chemicals that had burned out of the room, it was thick enough to irritate my eyes before I returned to the lower level. A few desks and a broken wheelchair had been left beside the steps, I climbed to the other side and located some scorched files. What was illegible described patient status and hypnotic (H) progress with individuals. The only file pertaining to the Walrider, was an excerpt in German religion.

_Brief introduction to WALRIDER mythology for M.R.D. Support Staff_

_The Murkoff Corp._

_NOTE - this is for support/notational purposes only, engage in NO direct contact with patients during or after therapy._

_the WALRIDER, also known as an "alp," or "mara," or "schrat," is a demonic creature of German origin that torments sleepers. They crouch on a sleeper's chest and crush the breath from him. The sleeper wakes terrified, paralyzed, and asphyxiating. The name "mara" gives us the word "nightmare." Sexual assaults by the demon are rare, but it has been known to drink the milk from breasts of sleeping women, and blood from the nipples of sleeping men._

That was interesting to note, the similarities of America folklore to the crouching devil. This tide the name of Walrider into the realism of the experiments, possibly many of the patients experienced paralysis and other similar side effects of the sort during treatment. It was also attributed to PTSD, when chemicals in the brain had been wrecked enough anyone could have a hard time getting to sleep or waking up. It was an intense condition, and some cases I've read where people slept walk into dangerous areas, or choked before they could awaken fully.

I went ahead and recorded the file, and a few of the patient reports for reference later.

I returned to the former hall, with the plaque indicating the stairs. An open gate on my right was accessible, but only one room available to explore. Another bathroom typical in design, aside from the massive damage to the walls, possibly caused by the grout cracking under the strain of heat and if not from the years of neglect. I shut the door behind me and went through the stalls, I didn't feel at ease despite the complete absence of anything remotely living. The air was heavy with the scorched wood and tile, I began to attribute this as the primary culprit behind my headache.

The pressure from the tap was low but it tasted clean. I'd be able to wash some of the ash off from my hands that I was picking up, but still I couldn't risk tampering with the damaged edges of my fingers. I noted the thick coating of black dust but it didn't bother too much, there was enough flesh still covering the ring finger. I exchanged the camera between my hands, finding my right hand holding its shape. The wound was not as filthy which was good. I didn't have the stomach to look directly into the top of my index finger, I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to make out in the NV, I didn't want to know.

I fixed the camera back to my right hand and flushed my eyes out. I was immediately concerned when my hand came away slick and coated with dirt, only to recall my earlier fall and hunting for the camera in the garden. I cleaned off what I could then spun the visor around so I could view my face.

I looked god awful, the ghost of shade under my eyes and a dark blot on the side of my brow. The nightvision wasn't really credible for making people look wonderful, but I looked pretty horrendous despite everything.

As I turned the camera, something flashed in the wall behind me. I jerked around aiming the camera, but the visor was still facing forward. That humming was back, like when it shrieked in my face. I had to put my palm to my eyes and give pause, ease my thudding heartbeat. No one was in here with me, I was alone.

The trickling sound came from above, pellets tinkling in a pipe. I crouched down and listened, watching for any sign of attack, or form. Nothing showed itself and the room turned silent as before.

I shut the water off and confirmed nothing was in the room, had ever been present in the lavatory with me by checking the stalls. Absolutely empty and unchanged.

My ears were ringing.

The hall was silent, I waited a few seconds before moving along the decrepit wall. I ventured to the very end and checked the gate there, locked of course but it somehow had the capacity to set some of my nerves to ease if I knew some doors at my back were inaccessible. I left the hall and headed to the unexplored corridor, where the stairs had been indicated by the plate. As I shuffled around the corner, a patient approached with a club fitted in his hands. I backed away raising an arm to block the inevitable blow.

"Not my babies. Oh god…." He/she? stopped some distance from me and palmed the weapon, glaring.

I stared back. A female patient? I doubt it really mattered, if (s)he really wanted to they could hunt me down and beat my brains out. The voice sounded feminine but (s)he was muscular and bald, it could've been for the procedures that all patients were shaved. But (s)he had that female gait. Maybe transgender. Why was I debating this? I didn't think this person was quite all there, frightening (s)he was, but (s)he wasn't chasing me screaming. I wouldn't push it.

Carefully, I maneuvered around the clothed figure giving him/her plenty of space and kept facing him/her, as I glanced over my shoulder, the way I was going. For the entire time (s)he followed my progress with his/her eye, but refused to pursue. This reprieve wouldn't last long.

The doorway lacked a door in which to shut. One lunatic to keep on mind, but every corner had someone that was ready slaughter me in some way. Safety was an illusion.

The room had entered was well lit by a lamp hanging from the ceilings center. Large pillars held the upper floors up, as decorated the room. The elevator was still out of order, and two gated doors sat on either side, both open, one of the gates lay on the floor near the doorframe. A wheelchair was on its side in the middle of the eroded tile, alone and forgotten as the patients of the asylum. I walked by it towards the large doors at the front, a greasy large rug lay before the doors, decaying beneath the body of a broken Murkoff doctor. He had nothing useful on him.

The other side of the room was windowed, I recognized it as where I had entered from the storm. Ash was still settling of the gleaming metal of the hospital chair, but scattered and clung to my damp legs as I walked the perimeter. I stifled a sneeze as I turned my head up, admiring the worn panels nailed in place to comprise the floor above.

Chances were high that I'd find 'Father' Martin upstairs, and he'd give me further guidance or more blood trails to follow. I preferred talking to the man face to face, or with a twenty foot gap between us. I took the stairs that went down, deep into the dark lower floors of this section of the asylum, the musty grime of soil crept up as I descended. To the left some wash basins nested against the stone wall and a mop bucket, old janitorial tools and a radiator. This place was full of them, along most walls, it was a trial to keep all the large rooms warm in the winter time I'm sure, way up in the mountains. An additional section of the basement was gated off, I turned and entered through a metal doorframe into the main section.

A few more wash basins and some large bed frames, left over from storage or just dragged down here by the patients. I moved around the room examining the various pieces of hospital equipment forgotten, as I explored I felt an ominous pressure behind my eyes like the headache that plagued me. I tried not to blink my eyes, they felt wounded from the dust I was stirring up and my nose was getting stuffy.

Off to the side, a flash, I spun raising the camera but didn't catch a glimpse of what I saw. It felt like every time I moved there was something there, someone watching.

A desk had been left in the middle of the basement, as I approached a shape emerged from the darkest corner through the NV I relied on. He was clothed, facing the corner not doing much. I watched for a moment but he seemed oblivious to my presence. I moved forward checking a file set on the desk, and flipped the pages over as my eyes darted up to the man.

_PROJECT PAPERCLIP, Joint Intelligence_

_Objectives Agency (JIOA) document number 8 of 186, location 230/86/46/5_

_excerpt_

_REF: Nazi War Crimes Disclosure Act._

_a. The First, PAPERCLIP, provides a means of obtaining services of foreign specialists for specific assignments within the technical services of the Departments of Army, Navy, and Air Force._

_b. PROJECT 63 is primarily a denial program with utilization as a desirable feature. The aim of this program is to secure employment in the United States of certain preeminent GERMAN and AUSTRIAN SPECIALISTS, thus denying their services to potential enemies._

I decided to take this file with me and get proper images of it in the light. I gave the man one last glance, before I moved sideways out of this place. On my way out I noted a hard cot with fresh blood glittering on it, and a bucket splattered with dark blots, set on the ground near it. It all looked fresh

There was no door to shut on the basement, no surprise. Doubt it hold him there anyway. I reached the top floor and sat on the steps in the light, I went ahead and changed out the battery before I recorded images from Project paperclip. Bygones be bygones in America, they were still assholes in my book.

The stairs leading to the upper floors wound around the backside of the elevator. I secured the camera in its hoister before leaping over the large gap in the stairs, made from rot and the years of out commission this side of the hospital had obviously been on. I wondered if many of the patients had come to this side when Murkoff lost control, or had some been kept in this section during experimentation. It was obvious they migrated between the two sections at whim, and some may have found trails not as perilous as the one I undertook to reach this side. Or this was the result of my stubbornness?

The outdated side of the Asylum had been operational during Murkoffs function, but that didn't confirm if patients were kept here or what exactly they used this section for. Experimentation was a high possibility. I surrendered to the theory that I would never learn the truth unless I picked up a document that specifically mapped out the entire Asylum and labeled which buildings were in use and for what.

I grunted and hissed as the ruined edges of my fingers brushed the rough floor boards, I could keep most my index finger from rubbing if I had the chance, but the awkward ring finger was impossible to keep out of the way. Blood started pouring down my hands as I hauled myself up and went for the camera. I was certain I could pose as a corpse if I was desperate enough.

As I walked up the steps, I heard footsteps and the sound of something crashing. The ash in the air lifted and swirled as the light overhead snapped from its tether and swung, but the illumination refused to diminish. Instead, it sent odd vapor trails of buttery gold along the walls as I carried up the last steps. The handle turned as I pushed the door, I paused to scan the visible area before stepping around the gate.

The floor wasn't very large, a bed lay near the back wall and to the right door gates to other areas. Behind one was a dark hall with burnt wood and candles at the very back, I tried the door but it was locked. The door beside it to upper floors was as well, locked. My only access was to the other side, where a light was cut through the black corridor. I think I knew who that was.

"Nearly here." His voice echoed over the distance as I approached. "You can cross from the upper floors." I walked to the end of the corridor as he pivoted from the ledge and departed. A gate stood between us, but it was locked and there were few options to get to the other side unless I had a vine stashed somewhere. The fires from the kitchen had consumed the floor between us, apparently there was more damage than what I had initially seen.

I turned back, idly trying another door pinned by a bloody bed, but the lock was jammed. Near the entrance of the hall awaited another set of double doors, only one left open inviting me to enter. I jerked my elbow up using it to brush at my head as water dripped from the ceiling above, to a puddle just in the doorway. Instead of filling buckets with blood, they needed them to catch this water mess.

As I crept along the hall I could easily discern where the water had come from, I looked up at the ceiling to see holes where rain trickled down. Damage caused by the fire. The hall as well scorched black with broken timber, cold and wet lying in every direction. I hopped over a section of the fallen roof and came to path a little ways to my left, light spilled over the counter from the other side. Another section of this floor, I tried to picture what might be in that area. Not likely a way to the upper floors. At my right and across from me, more double doors barricaded shut. I blinked and shook my head, in the glass of the door…never mind.

I thought I heard something humming, or maybe it was my own thoughts clouding my senses. Needed to focus, find a way to the upper floors. The light illuminated the inner room on my left, I peered around the corner. I put down the NV and examined a little more clearly what I was present.

Open door on the right of a windowed in hall, across from it a nearby desk on my left, another countertop divided the hall and room. On the wall beneath the light was a small laundry chute, inside something gleamed in the angle of the light.

I slipped over the counter and made my way towards the little slot, gently closing the door on my right before leaving it. The grate was shut on the chute, and the key was too large to maneuver out. It was also attached to a dead man's finger, via the small loop on the keys end. It looked as though the guard had been folded up and crammed into the tiny chute, bone stuck out of his torn skin and a foul reek drifted from a draft in the small compartment. To the left was an open panel with three fuse slots. Each one was empty.

I sighed and coughed a bit as my ribs troubled me. My job now was self-explanatory if I wanted to get out of here.

There were two 'options' available to me. One way might lead to the items I needed to find, the other could be my certain death – or worse. Or, both could lead to a fate worse than death and there were no fuses, one of the patients might've stolen them and tossed them out a window. I couldn't be sure the fuses actually existed. I was beginning to question my own reasoning, if I was actually standing here studying a laundry chute full of dead man and a key jammed on his finger. Curiously, I pressed the switch but nothing happened, aside from startling the insects that had settled on his clothing. I shielded my face with an arm as they took off. Maybe I could find a clothes hangar or something to fish the key out.

I decided to start in the area at the rooms back, over another countertop that segregated from a passage. The NV had some difficulty piercing the lingering steam from the fire, the hall itself suffered massive damage and the wood felt cold while heavy with the burning scent. The wood all around was black and twisted, I had to crawl over a few fallen chunks from the roof before the worst of the damage was behind me. It puzzled and irritated me, why would anyone hide the key in the chute then steal the fuses. I might be wasting my time with a wild goose chase, when I should be hunting for an alternate climb to the upper floors.

Around the corner I recognized the setup of candles in the gloomy distance of the nightvision. Behind me was the gate that I had examined, I went in a complete circle. Why couldn't this door have been unlocked? Waste of time, all of this was.

I didn't recall the door at the end of the hall being open when I saw it last.

I paused to listen. Silence. No resonance to indicate I was not alone. Muffled steps did pace light and tentative from somewhere above, as though someone were sneaking around. I echoed the movement without really meaning to.

Candles had been set on a gurney at the halls end, and a plank of wood behind them with the blood scrawled phrase

Drive in the Nails

A few other candles had been lit and set on either side of the door, but I wasn't focused on them. My eyes had set on what was beyond the door hanging before a cackling fireplace.

An upside down crucifix with a man nailed to it. Had he been dead prior to his crucifixion? It might not be difficult to determine, but I didn't have the nerve. That ringing and the pain in my head, I didn't want to push it here and now. I didn't want to enter the room but I felt compiled to. Not even as my duty as an investigator to gather evidence, it was nearly null at this point. I was almost fascinated, aside from gripping terror I felt from this display.

That same sensation came over me, the way I felt when I was curled up in that room shaken, not helplessness but I couldn't call it numb either. It was the sense that something was ill in me, or strange. I didn't feel right. I tried to shake the odd tingle in my skin by stepping further into the room, trying to focus on the man and the flickering fire, the occasional fly zipping about in black tendrils.

A few beds sat scattered around the room's perimeter, and more gatherings of candles huddled on the floor dripping wax in liquid rivers, the soft flicker and the warmth of the fire almost put my nerves to ease. If only there wasn't a man crucified before the fireplace, the heat on his dead skin filled the room with a thick oily smell, like burnt leather. I watched the body as I scouted the room, until something in the light caught my eye.

On a nightstand near the body, sat a clean metal plate mirrored against the warm flames. On it sat what looked like a fuse.

The steady pad of footfalls reached my ears, and I abandoned the item to occupy the space under the nearest bed. Too close to the flames, I couldn't be sure. I didn't need my camera to view the shirtless figure that strolled in. He walked straight to the small table and gave it a look, with the pipe he carried he tapped the side as though confirming its solid presence. Once he was satisfied all was as he left it, he made a turn and passed right by the bed I was under on his way to the door.

I held my breath as my nose tingled, all this dust kicked up was getting to me, I had to sneeze so bad it hurt. Just as he was stepping out the door, I snorted into my collar. The soft steps stopped, and I could hear the floor creak as he shifted. I held perfectly still, even as my nose itched once more with another sneeze.

"What's there?" His steps reentered the room, and I watched from the corner of my eye as he stooped to check under the bed nearest to the door.

Quietly, I slid out from under my bed and slunk towards the corner of the room, avoiding the bright luminous of the windows draped over the floor. I curled up as the patient went to the next bed and stuck his weapon under searching the dark space. He might've been half blind, his only advantage the all-consuming dark of the asylum he had adapted to.

This became a solid theory of mine when he began scouting the perimeter of the room swiping the pipe low searching for a form that wasn't there. I stretched out on my side, melting into the shadow. He came close, no more than five feet from me as skipped the pipe along. I held my breath and stared as he completed his patrol, then returned to the door.

"No ghost. No shadow."

I focused on the soft rustle of the flames, biding time before I gathered the nerve to move. It felt 'safe' enough to roll over and get back to my feet. And sneezed. Three times, it felt so good. But each convulsion in my body brought that sharp pain in my side, and the pounding in my head felt worse. I needed some aspirin, or some strong ibuprofen. Some real sleep would do wonders.

Drive in the Nails

This mans fate did not set me to ease, so long as Martin Archimbaud was out there somewhere there was no telling what fate he had in store for me. This was a precursor to my fate.

I took up the fuse and considered the meaning of the crucifixion. This Walrider demon mythology, or did it delve deeper? It was common mistake of anti-Christians that the upside down cross was in reference for its denial, or acceptance of the anti-Christ – which pissed off the religious flock to no end. This wasn't the case, here. If 'Father' Martin was as much of a Priest as he believed, then this was in reference to Saint Peter.

I've researched enough fanatical religious groups.

Saint Peter was crucified upside down to denote unworthiness. Then, this mans fate wasn't in any form of league with a demon, it simply implied he was not worthy of crucifixion.

It was almost scary how hinged 'Father' Martin could be. This was well planned out, and its intentions clear cut. Though I was already recording everything through the NV, I switched it off to film the cross against the natural light of the room.

I returned to the mid room with the laundry chute eluding incident. However, the door previously shut when I passed through was now open. I knew where the half blind patient had gone.

Rather carry the heavy fuse around, I stuffed it into one of the slots and took the unexplored corridor. Two were left, but I doubt I'd have as easy of a time locating them let alone returning with them. I leaned through the doorframe checking to my right then the left. The left side was a dead end, a boarded up wall that might have been an entrance to another room. Lockers glittered in the NV, abandoned at the wall with a broken door stuffed into the corner.

As I turned to the right, I ran through my mind the occurrence with the fuse and wondered - had there been a fuse at all? The nature of my own self-doubt frightened me. I was questioning whether or not I had lifted the heavy item and brought it back to a fuse box, and found I couldn't really prove the event.

I jumped back when something flashed in my camera. Briefly, directly in the lens, but there was nothing there. With a groan I got myself under control, breathed deep the soggy charcoal. I was almost certain I'd seen something, and there was this odd taste on the back of my tongue. There was nothing, but I couldn't discredit my jumpiness. There was someone here, just not the thing I kept imagining. Once I quieted my murmurs I resumed, fully anticipating another stutter in the visor to send me into another panic. I was fed up with it.

Broken glass lined the floor beside the cracked windows of the upper wall. The window looked as though someone had attempted to tear through it, a few metal carts and a dismantled wheelchair lay at the base. The Plexiglas had refused to submit to brute force, only one layer had been shed in the ferocity of the attack. They might've had more luck carving out the wood beneath, but I recalled the plating set between the wood panels as well.

I swear this entire building was alive.

A ways down the hall I found double doors, one was left open and inviting as the usual case, while the other was shut. I tried to pry it free but the latch in the doorframe was jammed, I didn't fight it loose.

The hall was littered with lost items, broken bed pieces discarded along the walls, papers and patient folders. A few doors taken from somewhere, maybe brought by the workers to block rooms with. I did my best to avoid each while keeping track of noises echoing from the walls, and my own paranoia that I was hearing people running back and forth. I calmed my breathing down a bit as I turned a corner viewing much of the same, hall and gloom, but this was good.

I crouched down when in the darkness emerged a shape, but when a minute passed and it did not move I shuffled forward. When the NV outlined the form more, I was leery but not alarmed. It was a man sitting in a wheelchair, but so far my experience with men in wheelchairs had not gone over well. He looked dead. And pants less.

I slipped along the doorframe to the right, trying to keep as much space between him and I as possible. He looked cold and dead, water dripping from the ceiling gathered in a puddle under him. I refused to let my guard down, even when my hand brushed filthy cloth rotting into the wood.

When I felt secure enough by the distance, I slowly rose to my feet I ventured deeper into the hall. It felt silent all at once, and I envisioned somewhere far away children sleeping in their warm, safe beds. Never dreaming such a place like this existed.

Then I crashed back into the reality of my situation, and recalled dreams I had as a kid, nightmares. Running through the woods near my home, from something huge and nameless with no description, just horrible and scary because of the fact it was chasing me. Then the paralysis that would follow when I was caught, and the only way my brain could cope with the trauma was to evict my mind from my body. And I'd lay awake in my warm bed, stunned and trembling terrified I'd shift an inch, and that thing would crash into my room to eviscerate my body.

Why couldn't I be dreaming now? Why did I have to wake up this morning and undertake this horror? Why couldn't I have stayed in bed?

I was edging towards an overturned bed when the sharp slap of feet on floorboards came. I stepped back as the nightvision revealed the shirtless figure racing forward, pausing just o the other side of the bedframe.

"I hear you."

I fought off my flight instinct and waited, before I gave him something to chase down. He was bluffing, I had been silent. Except for my breathing.

As quietly as I could, I crouched low and inched back on my foot and knee, wincing as a board creaked under my weight.

Blind. He was half blind. But he wasn't stupid.

The patient hopped over the bed and approached. I was trying to get on my feet to run, when my ankle wrenched awkwardly under my weight and my body sort of melted to the ground. He paused to listen as I dragged myself towards the wall and lay there, camera shoved into my coat to prevent him from seeing the light. Wasn't he blind?

He set the pipe on the floor and ran it gently along the surface, bouncing over uneven floorboards, a wheelchair wheel near me, and the furnace on the other side of the wall. When he returned to my side the pipe made a dull thump when it ran into my hip. Silence followed, I couldn't see a thing he was doing, I only knew that the pipe had departed for some time and the floor boards groaned uncomfortably close to me.

I lunged to my feet diving into the direction I had been headed. My ears nearly missed the sharp crack in drywall, the instant before I went tumbling over the bedframe I had completely forgotten about. Somehow I somersaulted over and landed on my butt, feet sprawled before me. The patient shrieked over me, wild with the excitement and exasperation that I had vanished suddenly. I pulled the camera out and crawled to my feet, racing to the end of the hall where the soft glow of candles awaited.

I pivoted on my heel and threw the door shut on the patient. A few seconds later the door shuddered with his weight, but I knew he had not run into it. Another thud, and the wood cracked along the hinges.

Had to hide. I whirled around, stunned instantly by what was left. To the side of the left wall was a gurney splattered with blood, the violence of it spread in a thick stain up the cracked plaster. It looked fresh. The same words that were scrawled beside the door, reaffirmed the message outside

Invite the Walrider

Beneath the blood spray lay a body on the gurney, coated head to toe in blood. Candles had been set around the corpse and on the floor beside it, and on a desk near the cot was a pristine metal plate with a fuse on it.

The door shattered and broke in. I snatched up the fuse and darted to the darkest corner of the room, pressing my face into my shoulder and watching through the nightvision as the patient entered. He crossed the room directly towards the nightstand and tapped the side with the pipe. A pause followed.

"Gone. Gone." He began to work his way around the room, touching the weapon into the dark seeking.

The nightvision on my camera started to dim. I kept low as I fumbled to take the old battery out set a fresh one in. As I checked through the visor, the patient had cut the distance between us as though he knew exactly where I was. I got up and ran for the door, he lunged after me yelling. He swung the pipe, it caught my back low not hurting me but upset my balance. I stumbled out the door gaining speed before I hurdled over the bed frame, in the edge of the NV I spied beds stacked in an alcove on my left, with space enough for me under them.

I skidded down to my backside and shoved myself under them as the patient cleared the obstruction and kept going. "Hide and seek! I like games!" His steps continued until I could no longer hear them, and still I kept hidden.

A warm spot began to grow on my back, and I cursed to myself. He hadn't wounded me, but he must've reopened the cut. I waited a bit longer, listening to the muffled sounds behind walls, and thought I heard the creeping rustle of pellets. I attributed this to my overstrung psyche.

I didn't wait long before I dragged my body out and stood, keeping my sense raw to whatever I wasn't yet aware of. I had one fuse, that was two for the slots, but I needed a third. Yes, I admit, the fuses did exist and I wasn't completely nuts.

Maybe I just wanted to believe I was loosing it. Keep me from being responsible for what I thought I was seeing at the edge of the visor, I didn't want to look. I was trying to keep my focus solid in the bright gleam in the little windows center, and move not too quickly if I needed to check some sound.

Further down the hall I picked up the loud glow of candles, another offering I surmised. I crept along the wall, opting to give the wheelchair corpse less room but I was wary should he suddenly spring back to life. He was less alive than the guy with the pipe though.

The door at the end was shut. I doubted the blind patient would shut a door if he entered a room, he hadn't seemed keen on it thus far.

Pray for Revelation

I'd pray for something. But not your revelation. I moved to the door and listened, hearing nothing. I turned the handle and stepped inside.

I froze when my eyes feel on the outline of a figure standing over a corpse, bloodied and surrounded by candles, his hands clasped together as though in prayer. I took a step back but the patient hadn't moved, he just stood watching the body and the candles.

Behind me the rapid approach of feet echoed in my ears, so I took a gamble in entering and slamming the door behind me. The other man hadn't moved, but he did look over at me. I moved to the left side of wall, away from the door as the wood cracked and thudded. I wasn't thinking when I THREW the door shut.

Halfway around the room I stumbled into a cold fireplace, the brick felt damp on my hands as I slipped into the hearth and knelt. The patient that had been watching me, now turned his attention to the door as it crumbled inward. I watched as the shirtless man entered and began scouting around the room, avoiding the center section where the other man stood. Either he decided I wasn't here, or couldn't be here due to the other patient, the half blind figure dashed out the broken door and was lost from sight.

I didn't wait long before I crawled out and went to view the body once more. This time the man didn't acknowledge my presence, but I did take into account the large butcher knife he held.

Beside the body was a table, with a pristine plate atop the blood stain. And there was the last fuse. I snatched it up and stuffed it into a pocket.

"No more!" howled the man, he clutched his face with his palms outraged before stalking towards me at a slow pace. I backed away.

He gained no speed and he said nothing more. When my back was to the shattered door I ducked out, wishing I had not slammed it on the other man in the first place.

As I turned the corner into the next corridor, I had to duck sideways to avoid running into the blind patient. Meanwhile, he tried to get his pipe up to bring it down as I pushed off the wall to keep from crashing into it. The open double door was now in my path, I brushed by the patient as he stumbled from the unaccounted force of missing his target. I stumbled through the open door and took the edge and tossed it behind me, but he had already twisted to chase. As result the door bounced off his weapon as he swung it, and snapped back open and he came through, eyes on me. I thought he was blind!

I didn't try and figure out which, I sprint the length of the corridor, turning the corner back into the laundry chute room. I dug in my pockets, hissing at the fibers getting caught on the gooey tips of my fingers. Had to get the fuses in, had to get that door open. I jammed one in, dropped the other on the floor in my haste. Rather fix this error I jumped back at the still open door and slammed it on the patient when he reached it. As he went for the handle, I gave it a Sparta style kick tearing the mechanism off. The patient pulled free the broken half the knob on his side and gave it a befuddled stare as I spun away to get the fuse. I stuffed it back into the slot and punched the panel. Power restored to the gate, the door began to open and the guard caught on the edge dropped. I lowered the camera as I looked down the chute. Fuck!

The patient threw his body against the door with a crash. I watched his actions for a moment as my mind blanked out. Laundry chute leads to the laundry. Would the body be there? Better than hanging around here.

I shot towards the counter and leapt it, stumbling over scorched wood and broken lumber from the room. I think the patient screamed after me, or that was the sound in my head. Shaking myself, I continued to the end of the hall.

The floor gave out under my foot when I reached the soaked wood, causing me to fall forward and nearly break my ankle. Instead, I caught myself on one hand and clutched the camera to my stomach as I groaned. My finger had jammed into the floorboard and before I had my foot free I was on my side, lying in the puddle trying to get out a sound. Something to rekindle my broken senses. My entire hand had gone numb.

Miles! Up! Get your ass up and MOVE!

I ground my teeth together hard enough to crack a molar. With some effort I finally unsnagged my foot and pushed myself to my feet, one shaky step after the next as I continued to the main room of this floor.

Walk it off Miles. You can do this. I remembered where the laundry room was. The key would be there, it must be.

I blinked against the harsh light, opting to use it as some meager form of distraction from my hand. I moved across the door less segregation gate that led to the lower basement, and considered the man I had seen down there studying the corner. Wasn't there a horror movie where someone was made to face a corner? My mind couldn't recall. I paused beside the inactive elevator and pressed my hands into the hard plastic of the camera, concentrating on the worn casing stained with a rosy hue. It wouldn't matter what polish or cleaner I used on it, it was perpetually dyed through its abuse. As long as it was still filming, that was all I was thinking. The footage, the evidence. Everything I had gathered. I drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. This was good, I was calming down and the feeling had returned to my hand, in that reminiscent throbbing when your hand falls asleep. It tingled, almost tickled.

I adjusted my footing, ready to climb back to my feet, until I took note of the contents of the elevator. That's right, I was in another section of the Asylum. Female Ward. Rick Trager died in the Male Ward. I fumbled with the camera, still unable to detect sensation between my fingers as well as I would like to.

"_A dead body at the bottom of the elevator shaft, surrounded by food. He barricaded himself in someplace safe, someplace nobody could reach him. It didn't work._"

There was even a filthy, stained mattress right before his scared and broken feet. I could detect the fetid sour rising from the dank walls of the lifts cradle. I recalled my short stop in the kitchen and the canned goods, how bland the contents had tasted despite my hunger. This person had obviously not considered the time limit and the inevitable outcome of eating through ones provisions, unless he had died of dehydration first. He had been ludic enough to realize what was happening and had tried to elude the horror and death that had swamped the Asylum. He could've been my hero.

I pulled myself up the linked segments of the lift and turned away, I stumbled a bit with my first steps as the kinks worked out of my legs. I entered through the segregation gate and walked down the dark hall. A plate on the wall reminded me the Laundry room was to the right.

When I moved around the corner, I was startled and backed away from the patient standing there. Fuck, I'd forgotten about that one. I took a few breaths and put myself beside the wall as I walked past him(her? I don't fucking care).

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Shut up. I kept that person in my sight as I limped, the one good eye gleamed in the NV as (s)he watched me. The laundry room wasn't far from here, I was having trouble focusing on where I was going and why exactly I needed to find the laundry room.

Key. The key fell down here.

I entered the room and shut the door behind me. The churning rattle seemed distant now, and I felt this inexplicable wave of sorrow or regret. It was just bizarre, and I hated how insignificant I felt to these emotions.

Shrugging it off, I approached the chute with the dead guard inside. And the key. I punched the panel and snatched the key the moment those doors had open, though the body could fall nowhere else. The key was still lopped on his swollen finger, and I had this gruesome task of massaging it off his finger. The way I did this…I picked up a piece of tile on the floor and crushed his finger to a pulp. By the end of it, I was ready to throw up again. Somehow I kept it together.

That and I was soon distracted by yelling on the other side of the closed door.

"Not alone! No more! Please!"

I stood across from the door listening as the screams grew louder. Then the door rattled, as someone tried to beat their way in. I immediately ducked down behind the laundry baskets and pulled the camera up, I had one route to follow and didn't need to slip up. I cringed into the sour smelling basket as the door creaked opened.

"He's one of Wernicke's! Don't let him hurt us!"

I crawled on my hand and knees around the other side as the bare feet worked around the other direction. When I was by the door I slipped out, while the man still hunted for me. There was precious little time to waste.

I saw no one else as I raced back to the stairs and leapt across the rotted wood to the next floor. I nearly dropped my camera, in my haste I forgot to secure it in the pack before I jumped. No harm was done, but it was a careless mistake I chided myself for. When I died, this camera was going into a museum.

I didn't plan to die for a very long, long time.

I sped through the smaller floor, to the locked gate on the right side. When I fished out the key from my pocket, I paused and took note of the blood collecting at the edge of my sleeve after I had fallen on my hand again. I whimpered to myself as I opened the door, and shut it behind me.

I rethought over wrapping my hands in sheets or cloth that I had found, or something. It had to be better than sticking them in the places that I had and butchering the ends further. I looked away when I noticed a little scrap of flesh dangling at the end of my ring finger. But I reminded myself using my hands in their current state was a hazard. A thin layer of sheets would only get soaked in filth and blood, and make it harder to get around. My fingers were a lost cause, I accepted this. But I could not afford to lose anything else.

My life.

I needed a real doctor, to give me shots of antibiotics, and put me back together. I didn't want to think of the dangers of seeking medical treatment, if Murkoffs presence still existed after everything that had happened. I needed that drive to keep me running, to keep me going when my body felt like it had nothing else to give. I would get help and rest, and some goddamn good food, but I first had to survive, no matter what it took. No matter how mangled and wounded I became, I was not dying inside this horrible place. I promised myself that.


	17. Chapter 17

Prometheus Lie

More of the floor had fallen due to rot or fire higher up on the stairs. I nearly missed it in my climb, I was still taking the steps as I flicked the nightvision on and stumbled upon the gaping tear. It was a large jump and I had my doubts about being able to drag myself up on the other side, given the slick tile, but no other options were available.

This time I made sure the camera was secure in its pack before I put my back against the cool plaster and steeled myself for the short sprint. Focus on the leap, on footing, don't hesitate—

I hit the edge of the floor with more force than anticipated, I couldn't see in the shadows where I would collide with the edge. A sharp yowl burst from my lungs, painfully, but I recovered and was able to get my elbows under my chest and hoist up. My chest ached, as did my bad arm, nothing new. I would get through this. Had to keep going, couldn't stop, never again.

Softly glowing candles decorated the broken shelf across from me. The usual message Follow the Blood was painted on the wall above them. I leaned through the gate examining the closed in surroundings, a gate on my far left looked locked. Probably was. A lone battery had been left to me between the candles wax drippings. I took it feeling very little gratitude to my 'benefactor.'

It was like being given a brick in this place. Or a flashlight. Didn't help much but to keep me going.

I paused as I glanced to the darkened hall at my left. I thought… could've been 'Farther' Martin. But I didn't linger to certify this, blood was marked to the dark hall ahead. I adjusted my hand under the cameras strap and took my time, in no hurry and with no drive for my current objective. I wasn't certain where I was headed, only that I was in another one of the numerous and indistinct corridors. In a room someplace nearby, someone was shrieking as though their skin was peeling off. I shuddered, but felt no other sentiment toward the matter. Too preoccupied with that tingling in the back of my skull. I was anticipating the horror that awaited my presence but it never ceased to terrify me.

Blood was brushed across the floor curving to the right. Follow the Blood.

However, there was still a stretch of corridor to check ahead. It wasn't worth the trip at any rate, the corpse of another patient with his head nearly twisted off his shoulders, the air rich with copper, and a door boarded up.

Disquieted, I returned to my marked path and found the floor there wrecked by the fire, a light hung from above enabled me to store my camera away. I inched closer to the wall, the boards underfoot reduced to charcoal and dusted with white, creaked as I moved to the edge. A door sat nestled in the wall on the left, with the faint traces of blood marked on its sides. There was very little space to press my heels back onto, and maybe I just didn't give a damn how dangerous this stunt was on the unstable remains of floor. But it was my path and that was all my mind had locked onto.

The light overhead flickered occasionally, but its illumination remained steady. As I inched along, a shirtless patient began to patrol on the floor below bumping into walls despite the light and smashing his fist against doors. I grimaced as I moved, the path was not as stable as I had hoped and shifted under my weight. I didn't need to fall down there with him.

When I was directly across from the door, I braced for impact and leapt, hitting the ledge and freezing when the splintered wood punched into my chest. My coat absorbed most the impact, but I still lost my grip and slipped backwards. I barely snagged the edge with my hands and dangled, below the patient sobbed something about his shadows, I really couldn't jot it down. The wood lamented my weight and creaked, I held on for dear life trying to decide what to do.

It wasn't really up for debate. I growled between my teeth and pulled my body up as much as my arm would allow, then swung my leg up over the burnt timber. I fit my heel onto a little notch that held my weight, enabling me to lift myself parallel with the side, until I could get my elbow over. I scooted the rest of the way up until I had cleared the edge, and rolled far-far from it. I had to pause and catch my breath and let my muscles a moment to loosen. I felt the familiar spreading warmth in my backside. Damn.

Maybe next time I should just drop and run like a bitch.

I jerked up when I caught a flash of static, light flooded the next room. I regretted it and winced as my ribs pulsed. Damn it. I heard thunder and chalked it up to the fierce weather that raged on outside.

The room was large but cluttered by all manner of bed and furniture, most stacked in the center as well as along the walls. I paused when I cleared the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It felt like someone was watching me, though I couldn't – could not detect a physical presence of any sort. The room was empty aside from me, and silent, the soft patter of rain outside hammered on the thick glass as my heart thudded in my chest. The feeling wouldn't leave and I was wary to travel further within the labyrinth of disorder, fearing something inhuman would lunge out at me and shriek as my brain erupted inside my skull.

I moved towards an open area on my left, crouching low and peering over the confusion of beds and mattresses. My battery was already getting low on power, I had to watch it and would probably need to change it soon anyway. Nothing was on this side, the shadows the nightvision couldn't penetrate revealed no hidden eyes, no shifting shapes. Absolutely nothing living.

I moved around the support pillar off center of the room, rising to my full height and slipped forward, ready to bolt at the first hint of movement.

The floor shifted beneath me, I turned the camera down as the boards gave a horrendous groan and I fell. My spine jolted between my muscles when I hit, and I twisted in a stunned mess on the floor. Right in my ear something shrieked and I turned over in time to see that hazy form dart overhead, at the outskirts of the NV. I rolled aside and crawled behind a pillar, before I peeked out to watch it glide out of sight.

It was gone. Whatever the fuck it was, it was gone. It could come back. I had no sick desire to move around too much and draw attention, but I was becoming aware of the small room I was in and its lack of doors. And escape.

I moved away from the pillar scouting the open area visible. It was identical to the floor above, I'm sure, but less clutter, more boarded up doors and windows. A few items had been abandoned, a table cart and some bed frames stacked. I pressed my palm to the side of my head while examining the blocked double doors. This was one of many I had passed in the burnt out corridors, either those that had been locked inside had escaped, or there was nothing here to begin with.

On the floor around a sequence of stacked bed frames, lay rotted wood and masonry. I lowered my arm to peer up the way the shape had flittered, and saw a large hole where the floor had collapsed. Maybe patients had been trapped in here, and they found a way out?

The NV was dimming, I had to stop and change that before I could secure the camera and climb up. I was detecting a pattern here.

It was nice to actually grip something smooth for a change rather than the splintered and rough floor. I hopped up to the ragged floor boards and pulled the camera up before climbing onto the floor. The camera wasn't necessary, light flittered through the murky windows, allowing my eyes to perceive some of the dark edges. More beds discarded, empty of mattresses and patients. I kept low as I slipped towards the obstructions, trying to see the odd flickers just beyond the perception of dark, lights that flashed behind my eyes without the storm. That odd vibration in my muscles.

Maybe I just wanted the paranoia, maybe I wanted the delusions to be true. It felt more real than my current dilemma. Most of all, I feared what I was thinking.

I stopped when that churning sound occurred and felt myself quiver. There was nothing, I told myself. The room was empty, I was seeing things. I wasn't seeing things.

Or was I?

It sounded like scratching, or subtly rubbing. Over and over, in a constant rhythm until I wasn't sure if I was still hearing it or if it was the sound in my ears. I let it drone on and ignored it as I ventured around the thick pillar near the hole, and scanned the cameras visor for movement, eyes. A lone wheelchair sat beside the gaping hole I had fallen in. A few feet beyond it was a small connecting hall, with light cutting through the dark shapes I imagined shuffling around. Blood had been splattered along the floorboards, I shut off the NV to confirm the crimson hue before pushing the next door open.

Somehow this room seemed darker, the shadows pressing on the NV range and giving me a feel for claustrophobe I was not accustomed to. I took a few tentative steps forward testing the depth of my view, the black veil gave and retreated as I pressed further into the room. Beds upturned, blotched with dried blood, overturned desks and rushed shelf stacking. I took the open path along the wall at the left. On one of the beds beneath a shattered window, boxes had been dumped, more scattered files lay about the crusty mattress. I gave my perimeter a short glance before poking through what remained of the damp pages. I pulled out one file with two names that seemed familiar, couldn't remember where I might've read them.

_(Excerpt from the diary of Shirley Pierce, Mount Massive Mental Hospital Patient, 1952-1964)_

_How can I not remember where the cuts are coming from? They hurt so deeply, even days later. Doctor Newhouse tells me that it's my fault, I'm subconsciously resisting the hypnotherapy. But I want so much to get better, I don't know how I could be doing this to myself, Dr. Newhouse says it's another condition of my bedroom-inspired hysteria. Poor Bruce, I make him suffer so._

_I've tried, subtly, to ask Mrs. Jackson if she's had similar "issues" with her husband, but she is loathe to talk about it. Her husband, too, has found comfort in a younger woman._

_I know the doctors mean well, and with the help of the government men who've joined the staff, I am in the very best hands possible. I should just take my pills and sleep, and hope for more pleasant dreams tonight._

I was unmoving for a time, unaware that I had been standing a full minute holding the side of my ear. The date on the page. That date barely came to me. That was long ago. Long-long ago. I reread it a few times before it finally began to sink in. God, I'm an idiot.

Mount Massive was shut down in the _early 70s_. Miles, you fuckin idiot. How didn't I see this sooner? It was staring me right in the face. Right in my face. Murkoff came along and 'reopened' it. What was I reading again?

She was committed to the Asylum from 1950 to 1960, before Mount Massive was shut down. But they were doing experiments before then. I didn't need to linger on the subject any longer.

I lost my train of thought as I knelt beside the bed, staring at the page. I was certain of what this note pertained to, but I couldn't focus. Was that what the patients meant when they talked about sleep therapy? I thought this over carefully, ignoring that buzz in my head. The Whistleblower said "_Sleep therapy going too deep._" The experiments were happening before Murkoff came along, the government was involved before Murkoff commissioned Dr. Wernicke. Was I just blocking this information out? Everything that started here. Could this go any deeper? The Hypnotic transgression to alter individuals thought patterns, and the Project named Walrider for those side effects? It seemed to lock together, yet the same old holes remained in my theories. Murkoff never started this.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. One mass hallucination. Nothing more. And I was buried deep in the center of it seeing what the patients saw, feeling what they felt. For them it was real, and for me it felt real. Too real.

I lowered the camera and pressed my forehead into my palm. A massive hallucination. That was all it was. But… hallucinations didn't tear people to pieces. Had I really seen the MHS cops murdered? I was drugged at the time, my recollection wasn't the most credible.

I stood off the bed and continued around the room, passing between stacked beds and mattresses. They must've been storing all this away when Project Walrider took its wrong turn, they butchered up most the patients and needed to put they vacant beds someplace. What a grotesque thought.

Even though some of them did NEED to die, they were still human beings. I think. I had no idea what the female patients were like, aside from the one transgender I had come across. I hadn't had the privilege thus yet to run screaming from a woman. I'm such a man.

Another small connecting hall appeared to my left, but the door that would lead to the next room was blocked by something large and unmovable. I couldn't budge it with my weight and gave up to resume my path to the front of the room.

The sunken outline of smashed out double doors loomed ahead, and a corridor beyond that. I hastened my steps, but jerked to a halt when that dark shape drifted by. I recorded that - I SAW THAT! That was no hallucination! NO! You can't tell me I didn't see that!

I backpedaled around the corner, until I toppled backwards over a table cart and lay staring up. That buzzing in my head was getting obnoxious. If I didn't think about it, it would dissipate somewhat, but it was there at the back of my mind scratching at my thoughts.

I sat the camera on my chest and pulled up the most recent recorded file and played back the last few minutes. Yes! A clear shot between frames, as it was at the center of the door. I stared at the image trying to make sense of what I was looking at. It looked….almost skeletal and corporal, at the same time. Like black dust, or a statue carved from obsidian. I could almost describe it as beautiful, if my mind were not so fractured.

Time to go. I pulled my legs off the overturned cart and stood. It was going to the right, maybe I should try the left.

The hall extended a distance and took another left. Double doors sat in the corridor to my right, but as with many doors they had been boarded up tight. I blinked as I turned, and felt a searing blaze of light behind my eyes as though I'd been hit. I didn't understand it, I knelt to my knees and waited for the pain to subside, it didn't actually hurt. Felt like the memory of a hard punch, like when Trager beat me out of the dumbwaiter, I was shaking all over again and my breath came labored.

Anxiety attack. Just an anxiety attack. Not shock, just relax, deep breaths, get it under control Miles. I was in a bad place for this, I was totally exposed and if a patient happened upon me I would be done for. Get it together, deep breaths, rhythmic breathing. My chest felt like it wanted to splint open, and I dropped the camera beside me as I fell over. The dust tickled my nose but I kept trying to drag myself back into focus, my left leg went numb. Just anxiety, not shock, not heart attack. I'd know if I was having a heart attack.

The pain in my head died somewhat and the feeling slowly returned to my leg. Good, good. Get up and move, walk it off.

I fumbled in the dark for my camera and picked it up. I half expected a face to be staring right in the visor, it was almost a shock that there was none. I pushed myself up and resumed walking.

Chairs, broken beds stacked, more doors tempting but going nowhere. On the wall there was the occasional dark arrow, still seeping with the fresh lines of its making. I took another left, coming to realize I was going in a circle if this route endured. Some open double doors, at least I was still headed somewhere, and apparently I could not have gone in the wrong direction. A few feet away the flicker of candles caught my attention, yes, I was going the right way. Though I think I could've come the other way, and still reached this place.

This door would still be here when I came back, the blood stained arrows were still running thick lines down the plaster. The door left ajar, inviting me.

It could wait. I crept slowly down the corridor, always aware the thing could be at any turn and suddenly spring from nowhere as though from thin air. The hall took a right and a ways down I could see light, wavering from an open door.

Inside was the mother load of files. Shelves stuffed with boxes, and binders full of notes. Boxes stacked around the room, many had been torn to pieces, some still had scraps of folders and pages littered everywhere. None of them looked complete, exerts from Frankentein's Monster, and more letters from family to patients and vice versa. Some of the pages I handled felt brittle and were yellowed with age, a few dates on letters read as far back as 1950. On the wall was a cross painted in blood and the familiar word in bold

LIE

The red was fresh, it still trickled down around where a trash chute was set into the wall. My shoes squeaked on the tile as I checked down the opening, then proceeded to go through the boxes.

"_I recognize the handwriting. Father Martin killed a man here. Are the "LIES" he's talking about all the files missing from these boxes? The facts? The records? They look like government agency material, at least thirty years old, probably older. I start thinking MKULTRA, CIA. Mind Control. The buzzing won't stop._"

There was a file about patients claiming to see a Dr. Wernicke in their dreams, though they had never known a man by that name. There was a file of one individual that screamed so much his tongue and throat had swollen, and he had perished. Another about a violent individual that had eventually died from blood loss when he had worn the skin from his fingers away, and tore his entire face off.

I started feeling sick, I wanted to stop and sit down, rest a moment. But I couldn't. There was no telling what lay ahead, everything was coming together now. Or maybe it was the feeling I was having about this place, the hallucinations. The whispers.

I returned to the marks on the wall, the door left ajar encouraging my progress. As I moved forward to push it open, someone shut it from the other side. I drew my hand back. Was the door now locked? No, it couldn't be, this was where I was supposed to go.

That just sounded insane.

I took the handle, it turned easily in my mutilated hand, and I pushed the door open just a bit. My movement wasn't unheard by the occupants of the room, and I cued in on soft foot falls just before they entered the range of the nightvision.

The twins!

I slammed the door shut and pulled the little cart with the candles on it and put it between the door and I. Why I did this, I'm not sure. I took a few steps back as the door opened and the first twin gave the small cart a baffled look before he scooted it aside with his machete.

I took the hall I had first come down, through the double doors and paused to look back. The twins stepped into the hall, glancing one way then the other. I crept behind the corner and watched, they couldn't see me I was certain but they knew I was here, or someone was here. The candlelight, they might have seen me standing in the doorway!

One twin began down the opposite hall, while the other turned and moved in my direction. They were going to corner me like they tried in the caged hall, but this time there was no window for me to use to get around them.

They were counting on me coming this way, with no other option but to follow the Priests blood trails. This didn't hardly seem fair, but I wouldn't get a word in edge wise if I was caught. I might still beat them back to the other room, but it didn't change the fact I had to get by them to that door and with the two of them patrolling, it was only a matter of time before I was caught.

I ducked aside when the twin reached the open double doors. I needed a way to get around them, someplace to hide and double back.

The stacked beds I passed. I dropped down and scooted under them until my shoulder was to the wall. My camera was getting low on power again, damn. Why now?

I held still as the bare foot falls grew louder with each step. I shut the camera off and tucked it into jacket, gritting my teeth hard when the fibers caught on the remains of my index finger. At least the bone was exposed only on that finger, the camera and loop somewhat protected it in my travel. I shut my eyes and focused on the sound of the brittle wood as the twin stalked past. Couldn't see me, couldn't know I was here. I exhaled a low breath when his steps faded down the hall, and I began a count once I could hear them no longer.

One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three one-thousand. I was still counting as I slid out from under the bed and moved towards the door, and the candle light. Four one-thousand. Six one-thousand. A sharp pain filled my skull as the candlelight clashed with the NV. Couldn't pause. Keep moving. Eight one-thousand. Nine one-thousand.

The door to the room was left open, I could barely make out the extending edges through the failing nightvision. I entered and flung the door shut, all the time keeping by the wall and straining to pick up early warning I heavily relied on. I couldn't gamble that the other twin was unaware of my intentions, and would still be out to corner me off at his brother. With the door shut I was more likely to hear of their return.

Now it was impossible to see through the visor, I had to fumble and get the batteries switched out before proceeding. It was another room identical to the previous ones I cut through, the few items of furniture scattered about, broken night stands, beds along the far wall. I crept around the thick pillars, wary of what might be lurking.

A door to the side of the room was jammed in its frame, another on the opposite side gave false hope. Through the window I could see broken wood and the dusty tile on the floor far below. I tried the handle out of habit, locked. It didn't matter, there was no visible way to climb down. I pressed my palm to my head, the stress caught up to me as the revelation hit. I could easily die if the twins returned this moment, and I had still not gotten my shit together. Keep moving, keep moving. Where didn't I check yet? It was obvious enough.

The back of the room? I moved close to the wall and the windows. It sounded like the storm had lessened for a short while, but boards nailed against the wall made it impossible for the meager amount of light through. The joining corridor was on the right side, and the door beyond open. Boards had been torn away allowing chunks of light through, enough to pick out the jagged floor where the fire had eaten through the wood.

The wood protested my weight but the structure seemed stable enough for my weight, at least where the damage was not as sever. Each gap of ruined floor was a distant, I couldn't tell from a glance what sections were solid enough. I tried not to think of it either.

I sprang forward clearing the gap easily, the floor creaked under me and I tottered as wood snapped and clattered somewhere below. Needed to stay sharp, none of this floor was stable. For now it held.

I crossed to the corner where the fire had done 'less' damage, and maneuvered around a bed as the wood groaned, warning its lack of patience with my weight. The wall beside me had burnt out, leaving the skeletal remains of the framework within. I leaned against it certain I saw something at the edge of my vision, something there without the NV. There was comfort in my dependence of the camera, a trick of the light. A voice reverberated from the floor below and I moved the camera over the demolished room, seeking its source.

A bright beam flashed over me and I met eyes with 'Father' Martin. "Only God needs be so mysterious. Be patient, hold faith." As he spoke he turned away, looking across the edge of a gap of where he stood upon. I couldn't be sure, but I doubted he was speaking to me.

I moved on, reinforcing my resolve. I needed to get out of this area, with the twins geared to hunt me down. They wouldn't hesitate to gut me on the spot, and I felt in my deepest fears that they wouldn't kill me before they went to work.

Shuddering, I edged myself onto a thin path that ran flush with the wall, I had very little room for my feet but the edge felt stable enough. The ruined timber moaned as the structure shifted under the malicious storm, it sounded like the whole place could topple at a wrong move, yet still it stood. I used the NV to make sure that I was scraping onto a solid surface, the charcoal was black and blended with the shadows. The floors center between the support pillars was still intact, not a big surprise. Another break in the floor separated me from the next door, by a distance I was leery to attempt jumping, but I was certain that I had leapt farther previously this evening. There was no easier way over.

Lamps undamaged by the fire gleamed down, revealing the tile floor of the room below. I focused on the door trimmed by light, wide open and inviting with only the ominous abyss of dark beyond. I would have a moment to gather myself before I pushed resumed. The floor didn't seem stable enough on my island, I shuffled near the edge and tested the thin boards. It made quite a bit of noise, but it felt solid. Maybe made from a different wood, from whatever comprised the asylums charred sections? I clicked off the NV and put some distance between myself and the edge, then dashed forward and threw myself out over the fissure.

I hit the other side with more force than anticipated, the wind gushed out of my lungs and my arms hit the boards. Hard. I didn't have a chance to inhale, my body began to slip backwards. I panicked and slung the camera out of my grip a safe distance and braced my hands and elbows against the splintered wood, sweat trickled into the corner of my eye obscuring my sight. I think I might've snapped a rib.

It sounded like it. Or was that the floor creaking against my weight? As I pulled myself up, the board snapped and I fell catching the next piece with my hands. A streak of light flashed through my eyes as my ragged finger tips locked into the timber.

The whole floor was falling!

I clambered up, kicking and clawing for a stable grip, and finally got my torso over the edge in time to witness—

My camera!

My camera was skidding backwards, off the slanting floor! No! I shuffled along trying to reach it before it fell. Visions of it hitting the black tile, dashed into a million pieces of plastic and metal. All my evidence! My only source of light in this shit hole! I reached, scratching it with my remaining fingertips as it tipped, then flipped jolly like over the edge.

Down, down, and down it went. Everything in slow motion as I was stuck up here, watching it get smaller and smaller, the further it descended. Any minute now, a millions pieces scattered everywhere. You wouldn't be able to tell what it was in the first place. Scattered to the far corners. I'd never be able to find them all and put it back together.

But it didn't scatter. I watched as it bumped against a board, and held my breath, right before it hit the other side of the floor above a thin black hole. Then, vanished into the dark abyss. I reached for it. I could still feel it in my hands, solid and comforting. This couldn't be happening. It was in one piece but it was gone. Fuck! Why didn't I secure it? Why didn't I remember to protect the damn thing? It was gone forever and I was the one to blame. Fucking idiot, Miles! Your life is over! The damn camera was the only thing keeping you—

The floor whined as the boards gave out, and a piece clattered hollowly in the open room. I shifted, dragging myself up just as I saw the door to a room below swing open and a dark figure creep into view. Shit!

Another panel snapped away before I had latched onto the next, and I was hanging by my hands snarling as hot needles pulsed through my fingertips. GET UP THERE MILES! I clawed my way up as the floor crumbled out from under me. I dug my fingers into what I could reach and braced myself, launching forward as everything under my feet snapped free. I was running on literal open air as the ground dissolved under me, I dove into the awaiting doorway and locked my hands on the frame as I spun about, to witness the last of the floor break away. I took a few deep breaths, and gazed at the open door with light pouring through. No evidence of the prowler below, I'm not sure if it was a twin or someone else hunting me.

I was still shaking when I turned to the dark corridor awaiting my trespass. I had become so dependent on the camera, the total blackness was like a wall I could never pierce with my conviction. Memories of those inexperienced cavers returned to my thoughts, how they had been lost for days before they succumb to hunger and thirst.

How do you get lost in a cave? The darkness is disorienting, and even when you feel you must be turned in the right direction, it is impossible to be sure. You can run in circles for days before you realize you've been in a room of nine by nine.

I didn't stand a chance navigating the dark totally blind, while the patients strolled about, conditioned to the dark halls that was their world. Aside from all the evidence I could not afford to lose. It would be better if I died trying to find it, rather die getting beaten to death by something I couldn't identify.

The ruined floor echoed a strange sound as the wood settled, almost like the shriek of a dying man. I pondered it, as I pondered how to go about locating my camera. I reviewed my recent progress through the asylum, deducing if I returned the way I came I would not be able to access the floor below where the camera should be. That was not considering the twins, I didn't doubt they were still hoping to stumble upon me in that section of the hall. I wiped some sweat from my eyes, and recoiled at the blood soaking my palm. Oh god!

After scrapping some of the fresh blood from my hands, I picked my way down what remained of the floor. At least 'if' I returned, I could still climb up easily. Small miracles. There was no sign of the creeper, this made me uneasy. He could as easily have been a spy for Father Martin, as he could have been one of the violent lunatics that's only purpose was to shatter skulls. He had to have come from somewhere, I doubt he came from the floor above or had a way up there.

This was all speculation, I had no reason to believe there was a way to access the lower floor through here. I planned to turn back if it became too dangerous, or if there was no visible way to progress. I don't know which way I preferred more.

The room was dim, light pouring through broken windows offered miniscule guidance, cutting dark lines over the beds and furniture that looked jammed into the space. I heard no sound, nothing to indicate a living body present. The path on my left was packed high with bed frames, to my right was a space I could slip through. I didn't want to attempt climbing over anything unless I absolutely had to, my hands were shaking against my sides. They felt hollow and light without my camera.

A flash of lightening pulsed from the windows, I crouched down when I though there was a shape peering over the shelves on my right, but it was already gone before my eyes adjusted. It felt like the ringing was getting louder, maybe my heart thudding harder in my chest. I crept along listening to the sound, trying to blot it out with thoughts of the mountains. How calm the night had seen before the storm. I climbed over a bed and scanned the front of the room as it brightened with a blaze from the windows.

Shadows raced back into place as the light died, I thought eyes were staring back at me but I didn't have the NV of the camera. Couldn't be anything there. Just the noise in my head making me feel like there was something that should be there, but couldn't be.

My camera. Think about that for a bit. Where would it be? Fell through the floorboards, would be on the floor below here if it didn't shatter into a million pieces. My quest seemed lost, everything I had been through, everything that I had witnessed was on that camera. I would go completely insane, and they'd find my body with my last words scrawled into the notebook and they'll scratch their heads, no clue of what the hell happened here. What horrors were witnessed.

The camera will be there, in one piece, because I will it to be so. With my fuckin mind!

Bed frames and shelves. They filled the gaps on either side of me as I moved towards another set of open doors. It amazed me how comforting furniture could be in a place like this. It looked like the doors had been blown apart, I couldn't find where the other had fallen. A sound startled me, the clatter of timber as something came down hard on the floor above. I knelt down and listened to the noises of footfalls overhead, silt trickled down getting into my eye.

I blinked it out then checked beyond the doorframe, a soft whimper wheezed out of me at the black veil that greeted me. I would get lost forever and die of hunger, or get beaten to death by someone in the dark. By a shape in the dark.

My spirits were lifted when the frail light spilled from a crack in the wall. I crawled to it, on my hands and knees, and peered inside hearing water running from somewhere. Another shower room. Lockers had been torn from the walls and stacked in odd areas, some were left along the floor. I tested the stability of the plaster that blocked me, and found I could tear the chunks out. Enough that I could easily slip myself under.

I entered and stood up and made my way along the side of the room that was open, and into the shadows that devoured my form. I used my less torn up left hand and set my fingers on the wall feeling where I was going and tried not to get turned around, but my fears were unfounded, the wall gave way to the other side of the washroom and a light blazed from the ceiling.

I checked a few of the stalls that would open, confirming there was no one hiding, nothing to surprise me. The drum of the water intermingled with the buzzing in my head, my body quivered despite how dry the top layer of my coat had become. It was bone quaking trembles, stemming from my muscles. I needed to shut the water off, stop the insistent white noise. I tried to figure out how to work the faucet, but the valve was snapped and spun uselessly in my grip.

Beneath the spout was a tear in the floor, the wood exposed under the tile and something under that. I went to the next stall over, the door taken somewhere left the access open for full view. Inside was a large hole to the level below, and where my camera must be.

I dropped down onto a plank of wood, and felt the hollow vibrations of lockers through my feet. For a moment I listened and waited, that had been loud. The drum of water above enveloped my senses, I few droplets of icy water splattered my neck. Along the ceiling the thick pipes transporting the water crossed, thick calcite had formed along edges where water seeped. Rather wait and confirm my isolation I crawled down onto the next floor.

It was a sizable closet to store supplies and some furniture. Everything had been dragged out into halls and used to board up doors, it was empty but for the lockers gathered into the center of the room. I walked around it before I located the door, it was a relief to escape the consistent sound rattling my mind. I gave no consideration to someone waiting outside, how reckless I was being. I didn't care. I peeked out into the dark hall.

The edges of a broken bed came into focus, the light from the closet didn't tread far but the glow of another lamp did reach around a corner some distance away. It was impossible to tell with the wall of black. I opted to follow the light for now, until I needed to get lost in the dark. I'd save that as last option if I could. The hall that cut right was too bright for comfort, I lingered by the wall briefly, the light didn't extended far. Beyond the shadows bars were stacked, or bed frames, silhouetted against soft light a large window. I really wanted to know that lights origins.

I climbed over a broken bed frame and listened, as the crackle of thunder and the flash of static illuminated a figure darting across the room far ahead. It looked like he had some destination in mind, but I wouldn't just stand at the edge of the shadows and wait for him to come this way. Couldn't be certain of what I saw, I wasn't confident in the stability of my mental faculty.

A door boarded up on my left thudded as something hit it, or fought to get through. I picked up the pace before they could get through while I was there. Those boards had held all through the shit storm, there was no reason for them to give now.

Light pulsed through the bars of the beds stacked at the end of a hall, cutting me off from the room. But I was certain the figure I'd seen had been there as well. A hall was to my left with light spilling like cold silver between the bars of a gate. It was too far up out of sight, I couldn't see where the light filtered down from.

I hesitate when I thought there was a voice, or someone mumbling. I listened, trying to get past the ringing in my own head. The silence without the constant drum of rain on windows to drown out my thoughts, made the walls vibrate with a resonance of silence that was almost as thunderous as the sound of clatter. No longer could I hear the voice, but it was probably my paranoia diluting my senses. I was on high alert and couldn't shut myself out.

As I neared the corner, leaning forward—

A man lunged out at me snaring my neck and bad shoulder. I gave half a yelp as the air was cut off in my throat, the man yelled in my face and shook me. My vision buzzed with static as he applied pressure, I couldn't decide which was hurting worse. The blood flow had been severely hindered by his grip on my neck and my ears started ringing. I slapped my hands down over his elbows and struggled to pull his arms off, get them unlocked as he pushed forward nearly causing me to topple. When I fell it would be all over, I wouldn't have the leverage to throw him off. I didn't have it now.

When I reached my limit, I knew I couldn't take much more of this, I dropped to my back on the hard tile and somersault backwards. The patient, placing all his weight against me fell forward. I jammed my foot into his stomach and propelled him along as he tumbled over me. Weak and stunned, I rolled aside not prepared for what would come next. I only heard the man climb to his feet and dart off screaming about the coming and Billy. That went well…

I coughed into the floor until my throat reformed, the cold and dusty air of the Asylum a welcomed return.

I was still rubbing the soreness out of my neck as I CAUTIOUSLY ventured into the next room. I felt the walls as I went, making sure I wasn't missing any doors that could lead to the room my camera was in. I had no idea where it might have fallen, I would just go through the rooms I could find and then go into more detailed search once I was comfortable with the layout.

The patients spent all of their time in this place, skulking through the dark, hiding in the shadows. No wonder they could track me in the dead black. With no other option, they had adapted to this way of life. A scary thought.

A wild blaze burned through the room, and for a brief moment I could see figures, men shaped. One crouched on a table holding bars, fully focused on the world outside, a far away world. I slunk forward, the second one seemed to be staring across the room directly at me but made no action. I kept along the side of a bar, or some sort of countertop on the opposite side of the room. I lost track of the other figure that had been in here, but as the windows pulsed with storm I located a door to the side of the room.

I lurched back and dropped to my side when something flashed in my vision, what exactly I couldn't be sure. But I felt nothing, no punishing blow and heard no sound of feet. I couldn't even be certain I had seen anything to frighten me, only that I had fallen on my side and felt the warm spot on my back. I just wanted my camera. It didn't matter if I made it out alive, I just wanted my camera back.

I crawled pathetically through the double doors that awaited, there was one tall window at the end of corridor, but the oppressive shadows huddled at the very breath of its light. It appeared to be the connecting hall, where I saw the figure dart through. I lifted to my feet and held my arms out, unable to see an inch in front of me. I kept on my toes ready to run at the sound of movement, anything that indicated I was not alone. I didn't feel alone, but I couldn't believe I would miss another living presence in the small space I now occupied. The concept that this was an error of my thought, terrified me. I was probably not alone, just kidding myself again.

I took a shallow breath as I felt around the edges of another door, a lamp from outside glistened off the metal bars of shelves. I blinked, and saw red, blood vessels in my eyes as the storm blazed. My breath was labored and dots evaporated at my vision, contrasting with the shadows. I blinked but I still couldn't see.

I moved around the shelves trying not to linger long in the light. Another doorway opened in my path, on the other side windows cut long shapes on the tiled floor. I crouched down and put my face just far enough past the opening to see what lay ahead, but was met with the invading veil of black. I thought I heard movement, a voice, but as I bided my time and listened trying to perceive what my eyes failed to, it felt like my mind was playing tricks on me again.

Something glint in the corner of my eye, and I drew back to spin on it but saw nothing. Just the beads of the metal shelves as the light hit their sides. I took a deep breath, I was shaking badly and my head pounded with the soft prattle of rain. Or was that the humming in my bones? Why'd I keep thinking of these things?

I forced myself to leave the doorway and scoot away from the wall, into the indiscriminate shadows. It was some sort of commune room with tables bolted to the floor. Maybe the patients cafeteria, or some sort of indoor recreational area? Being in this room right now unsettled me, like being in an orphanage after some sort of catastrophe killed all the children there. Almost the same difference, if you considered the less violent patients. Just mentally wrong, and locked away from their families that might've been trying to do the right thing for them.

The cold seeped through my coat, I had not nearly dried out yet, even so it just seemed to burrow into everything. It was getting darker as I moved from the windows, into areas of boarded up doors and the suppressive veil tightening over my shoulders. I slipped over a broken counter, a frame with glittering glass sat before metal slats for trays. This might've been the patients cafeteria, or where medicines was dispensed. It was the same thing, wasn't it?

I saw something in the furthest distance flicker against the black wall. I paused to stare and barely believed my eyes. I blinked. Was it possible? On that table beside a large cooking pot?

I let out a small whine, it was! My camera! Right there, not no more than a few feet away.

Okay Miles, keep it together. There's the camera, don't go running over there and tripping and tearing your fingers open again.

But… My camera! I edged towards it, pushing my senses into the wall of black, working to determine if there was anything I could stumble over, anything left lying in my path. Something clattered to the floor, echoing off the walls in the next room. I had no idea what that was from. Might have been the floor above, the broken room my camera fell from still settling in my absence.

I could sense movement. I couldn't be sure if this was my paranoia or the unnatural state this room was in, where I was accompanied by a threat. The big fucker? I wouldn't know until I picked up the camera, and by then it might be too late. It sounded like something was being smashed on hollow metal, or someone was trying to flush something out.

I dithered for a moment, debating what I should do. It was getting me nowhere, so I continued forward trying not to imagine what was beyond the black lurking at the edges of my senses. I was distracted in my elation, finally the comfort of the camera back in my hands. But I had not reached it yet, I was still vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Keep calm, deep breaths. I was shaking, the nerves in my muscles buzzing into my mind. Get the camera, it'd clear things up for me.

I began to pick up on something else as well. The typical rot of the asylum, of old bodies left to decompose into the carpet and wood, which was constant in the back of my mind. But I was sure I smelt the patients. Don't think I'm being weird, you can go fuck yourself – but, it was that musty smell they had. The baked on sweat, filthy clothing and the disregard for hygiene they shared, with this place going to hell. It was the smell of something alive, and it was getting stronger.

I put my hands on the pale light of the desk, where the NV poured out of the visor. I couldn't quiet my breathing, I had to get the camera and turn it, locate what it was in the dark. My hands quaked on the cool wood, and I shuffled around to the backside and set my hands over my camera.

It was like reuniting with an old friend that I thought was lost forever. Such a strong feeling for an inanimate object, but it still brought tears to my eyes. I gently picked it up and fitted my ruined finger under the strap, then fixed the visor; it had been jarred before it dropped through the floor. Slowly, I brought it to my eyes, reveling in the familiarity of seeing the distorted green hue of my surroundings. The buzzing in my head was now thunderous, and I slowly turned from a solid wall on my right to the open room that I could now see.

* * *

><p><strong>Miles seems to be having a hard time keeping track of all those docs he read in the earlier chapters. But he's pretty scramble, so its forgivable.<strong>

**As always, muchos gratitude to my readers and reviewers, you peeps are so awesome. These chapts are hard to get done what with trying to be thorough in their construction, and my classes have priority over recreation. (But I don't wanna!) I upload Outlast chapters on Deviantart also, if you want to defeat this cliff hanger, go there. As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget to support the DLC release _: )_**


	18. Chapter 18

The Witness

There were three or four of them, I'm not sure, I didn't stop to count. I froze up for about two seconds as they slowly approached, detecting my movement, the sudden charge of nerves as everything in my head suddenly shut down and reboot instantaneously. It smelt like burning cotton. I gave a small gasp as my brain shot into gear and I teetered around the side of the desk, the wood squeaked against the floor as my thighs knocked the sides.

"Hey! Hey!"

Fuck! I sprint to the front of the room, stumbling as the image in my visor flashed and flickered. No! No-no-no-no! My camera survived a two hundred foot fall, and when against all odds I managed to retrieve it, it fizzles out and dies! No! Don't do this!

The image cleared in time for me to spot the counter with the shattered glass. I vault over it as the patients call after me, shrieking profanities along with the promise of excruciating demise. Something whizzed by, inches from my head and clattered into the distance. I never saw what it was.

I swung around the sharp corner, stumbling as I regained traction and my camera flashed static. Damn! I lowered it enough to see the dark punch of the doorway, contrasted against the soft glow in the windows. I shot through the doorframe into the next room, jerking around the gleaming shelves that swept into my path. The camera's image failed as I bumped and fumbled my way through the room, white flashed through my eyes as my hand struck the sharp metal edge of a shelf. I heard a deafening crash as one of the patients in hot pursuit, smashed dead into a shelf and the whole line of them erupted at my back. I glimpsed over my shoulder to evaluate the damage, and saw two of my pursuers at my heels.

I passed by a door but didn't bother to slam it shut on them, I was already charging through the open cafeteria where the patients gazed into oblivion. A flash of light filled the room, I felt a hand sweep against my collar as I picked up speed, rounding the counters on the rooms left. Where was it I came from? Doors! Big doors, right by the counters. The hall took another left, just around the corner was a rolling table on my left. Without a thought I snared the handle and wrenched it behind me, the wheels squeaked up until a painful crash sounded when the half blind lunatics ran into it.

A viscous "FUCK YOU!" echoed behind me.

Maybe that was a mistake, too late to regret it. At either side of the hall locked doors lined my path, for once an asset. My progress had been linear enough, I couldn't recall hallways that I might've overlooked. Find the light, the lockers, then closet. Don't stop, never stop till I'm dead!

The next corner took a hard right, I stumbled and hit the opposite wall and pushed off, keeping myself headed in what was the only direction. The hard footfalls of the patients echoed around the corner, they would catch up. They were still upset with me, I'm sure.

Another left, I'm blinded as I tear through, still staring in the nightvision as the lamp overhead blazes down. I barely blink as I stuff the camera strap between my teeth. Almost there. I lunge over the bed frame panting hard against the Velcro strap, concerns of where my hands have been and where the cameras been far away in a place that no longer existed. It feels like the patients are right behind me shrieking. Any moment I'd be yanked back, my throat slit, skull beat to a pulp. No. No-no-no-no-

A sharp right and I'm in the locker/closet. Yes! Here! This was it! Home free! I leapt, catching the roof of the lockers and dragged my body up.

The obnoxious drone of drumming water greeted me, blocking out the curses of the men below struggling to scale the locker. I exhaled a sharp breath, not bothering to care how much my ribs ached, or the blood now coating my hand. I'd deal with it all later, what mattered was I'd gotten out with my life, and my camera. I wanted to appreciate the small accomplishment, reuniting with my invaluable piece of hardware, and the small pride I felt in the escape.

Let me get out of this washroom first, I just couldn't enjoy this with the fuckin white noise aggravating my head. I took the camera strap from my teeth and moved toward the other side of the room, reminding myself to remain cautious despite how well these events turned out. I needed to put this room behind me, in case the variants managed to stay focused long enough to get up into here. There was also the point that I was in a relatively good mood, and something terrible must happen to spoil that. It always seemed too happen. It was a curse of the Asylum.

Try not to think about getting grabbed from behind and drugged with a giant needle. That was a prime example, as it was a massive insult to my pride.

I reached the other side of the showers, from which I first entered the room, and crawled under the interior frame work of the wall. I remained huddled in the shadows for a moment to reassure there was no one waiting, that I was alone. The hall was empty, on the far right I could now see was a doorway at one point, but those of Mount Massive had fixed that.

Unless, all this time the patients have been the ones to block doorways and cram furniture into the halls. Interesting thought. Made a little sense too, but I doubt it mattered anymore.

The opposite side of the hall held another door, presumably that led to the showers and other venues. I didn't bother to try it, though it was clearly blocked. I took it slow into the next room, the vivid memory of shapes and faces watching my progress fresh in my mind. I winced as the image rolled in the visor, it knocked me from my brooding, though I was partially blind for the spell.

I continued, constantly glancing over my shoulders, twisting as I thought some sound came from a desk or table. Despite the cameras return I was still paranoid about this room, the static didn't help either. Occasionally, the lightening burned through the atmosphere with a thick rumble, I stopped to listen and make sure I was hearing over the sound of silence. I felt alone here and it was beginning to frighten me more than the patients. Sometimes I preferred being alone, many of the people I worked with were generally assholes, so I preferred it. But I needed people now, I was too deep and craved normalcy, a tether to something reliable. The sound that followed me was deafening, I needed to get out of this crushing silence.

Reaching the upper floor was no longer the challenge. The room was as it was left, no longer crumbling into ash. I stepped over the charred wood by the wall and jumped to the edge of the remaining upper floor, and pulled myself up. The floor was settled and had no longer any intention to crash, and scatter the camera or me across the checkerboard tile. The doorway was still here, welcoming me with its swirling dark and its secrets and the promise that through it, I would reach my destination. Whatever that was anymore.

Thus far it had been misleading truth, along with one disappointment after the next. I was done with it, but there was still much in store for me. Nothing could ever be easy. I would never be done with this. There would always be something unsettling and dark locked in the back of my mind, nesting in my doubt and feeding on my fear.

The hall to my right lead to blocked doors, dead end. I turned to my left, first seeing the rupture in the floor before taking the leap. I will forever have this unreasonable fear that I will fall and lose my camera. And I will always clutch it tight in my right hand, until the bone is worn down into my skin. It hurt like a bitch when I did that.

Due to my paranoia I saw it fit to shut a door with a large gaping hole behind it. I don't know, maybe a patient will wandered through here, break down the door and fall to his death. Seemed like a reasonable assumption.

Beyond the doorway was a segregation gate on my right, possibly leading to one of the floors I visited earlier. Or maybe the stairway where I found the Walrider folklore file, it was locked and therefore a dead end. Another door tempted me on the left but the latch was jammed.

The floor creaked under foot as I moved towards the lit doorway ahead. I tried not to rest my full weight on one board for too long, and listened as the wood spoke of its pain, long wretched moans as it shifted. It was getting tricky to anticipate which portions were trustworthy but I was cautious. I stepped through the open gate at the halls end, even from a distance I could see the fires consumption. Nothing remained of the room I was in, a few pieces of wood that had not fallen away. Below, I took note of the doorway 'Father' Martin had hailed me from. He said I could find a way across on the upper floors, but he was on the lower floor the whole time. Damn that guy.

As I moved out further onto the charred ledge, the floor crocked and gave out. I threw myself backwards into the doorway, as the wood snapped away, timber crashed down until the supports locked and held it in place. Holy crap. My breath came in short gasps, I nearly thought the floor was just going to fall out. Weakly, I laughed.

I needed a way down that didn't involve a too dangerous stunt. Most of the floor had fallen away, I wasn't about to take the leap, even if I didn't doubt the wood could hold my weight. From this height the least of my worries would be a snapped leg.

Through the NV I spied a small portion of the wood on my left, still intact, and it wasn't too short I had to shuffle along. I hopped over and judged my footing, trying not find the one loose board that would—

I staggered back when the wood under me fell out, and I sat on my butt staring at the small space that at one time felt solid. Step lightly, take your time. I carried on, jumping across a short gap to the far wall and moved to the edge of the walkway that remained after the fire. The smell of charcoal was getting to me, not to mention whatever else was reduced to ash in the blaze. Bodies, plastic, chemicals, cotton.

Across from my position, pieces of the floors support held tight to the wall. I jumped over snagging the burnt wood and used it to lower myself to the small pace below, and then dropped. I glanced around my new surroundings, and took in the patient standing at the end of a fully lit hall. My head buzzed with the realization but I tried to keep calm, think clearly. I lowered my camera and straightened up from my crouch.

He was clothed, only half of my brain screamed warning. I took slow, calm steps toward him, aware of the high drop at my backside. He watched me, occasionally throwing his eye to the gate he stood beside. It looked horrible the way his face had been stitched, and the ear on his left was completely gone. I paused when he gave a short gesture with his hand, towards his eyes, then looked to the door again.

"Only one way out. Only one way."

I looked from him to the door, then back to him. He looked like he could just throw me in. Rather tempt him I stepped by, through the doorway and looked back as he swung it shut. "How do you know you're not a patient?"

For some reason, and I can't explain why, this question jarred me to the core. Why? Rather rebuke such an insulting inquiry, I began to doubt my own presence here. Who was my mysterious contact, exactly? David Annapurna? He never made it out of here, did he? Murkoff… couldn't have been in the dark about his mutemail account, could they? The company was always on top of those sort of things. _"The experiment is still happening"_ yelled someone. That had been forever ago.

Through all the evidence I had seen, Murkoff was finished. Weren't they? Or was someone still alive running this place, while I scrambled about prodding at the surface, in the meantime the real evidence was hidden away in vaults I would never access.

I suddenly felt like the biggest idiot in the world. I had already established that this was the worst mistake of my career. But one question from some lunatic has caused me to doubt everything I had been through. I pressed my forehead into my palm, ignoring the thick smell of charcoal or the fact I was probably rubbing it into my bloody scalp.

What was I here to achieve? What was I to gain from this job? Expose Murkoff? Or did ulterior plans await in the woodwork, that I had not been made privy to yet?

I crouched under a jungle of shelves and cabinets that had been crammed into the hall, the short plush carpet now under foot filled me with a warmth that I had missed.

Whatever was happening, it wouldn't happen to me. I'm not a part of this process the patients had been put through, I've never endured this 'therapy' the doctors implemented on their MKULTRA subjects. I was going to get out of here, with all the evidence on this camera, the one I risked my life for! And Murkoff will be buried so deep Satan– no, the Walrider, would be insulted by the company. There goes the neighborhood!

Light filled the hall, momentarily blinding me through the NV feed. I took note the cheerful curtains hung along the windows on the left, and I could see the rain falling against the heavy grade chicken wire stretched outside. No thick, rusted bars, no moldered, outdated wood. The droplets clung in thick globs along the crisscrossing squares, the image flashed causing me to lower the camera and rub at my eyelids.

It was at this point I finally noticed my camera, or the visor, was cracked. That explained the short glitches, but it still worked.

To be certain I leaned on a bookcase and played back some of the recent footage to make sure it was recording. I didn't realize it, but when the patient had related to me there was only "_one way out_," someone had muttered a soft "thank you," and listening to it, I realized that had been my voice. Huh. I don't remember that.

I might, should've been a little more concerned, but there was a lot lately I was missing. I took it as shell shock, it would be weird if I was unaffected. For months, maybe years, I would be reliving this nightmare. But at least I'll be far away from it, and living. That was more than what Murkoff's staff had accomplished.

A few new marks were etched up the cameras plastic casing, a large crack now along the side where it must've hit the board before falling through the floor, or where it came down on the floor below. It was holding up and recording, if not, it still provided my light source. Char was smeared all over its sides where my fingers pressed into it. The soot had clotted much of the bleeding since my recent mishap, at least until I hit them on something else sharp and painful.

More shelves and desks had been lodged into the hall, I pushed out one of the chairs that was between the stack and continued on through easily. The dull throb in my ribs was overshot by the buzzing in my bones, like I'd been shot with a Taser but without the seizing and screaming. Just the hammering in my skull.

I cleared the gap a little more and listened. Nothing. Cautiously, I moved forward keeping eyes focused on my direction. The modern side of the Asylum was almost more unsettling than the outdated section. Almost. With the clean walls, the lack of furnaces, and the fresh carpet. The initial appearance was such a major deception. I moved through another broken segregation gate into the bright gleam of a lamp, on the wall to my right a plaque hung labeling directions. Chapel, Cafeteria, Recreational Hall, Library, and Lobby. Was I on the third floor? I was losing focus, couldn't figure where I was. Father Martin had mentioned where I would wind up, I doubt I was keen on listening to his preaching at the time. This hall would lead somewhere.

As I turned holding my head, a shape moved at the halls end, beyond a glass door. I zoomed on my camera and heard the crack of wood, before the shadow ducked out of view.

Big fucker! I dashed to the nearest door at my left, exhaling with relief to find it unlocked. He was already bashing another door somewhere, I ducked inside and shut myself in.

The room was well furnished with couches set up in one half of the room, above them a cheerful lamp blazed forth. The carpet sounded strange to my ears after I had become accustomed to the rickety wood floors, and charcoal. In the furthest right corner desks and monitors, beside them a fireplace. On the wall to my right sat a bookshelf filled with encyclopedias, among other texts whose labels and a few files. I didn't care for how homey the room was made out to be, or how pleasant it felt to stare at something other than bloodied floors and puss coated walls. Out there Chris Walker had not given up on his personal vendetta. I slipped down beside a desk and watched the door, listening for the trademark sounds of big fucker demolition.

Where did I need to go? First floor should be my new objective, those doors would lead to the front grounds of the Asylum. I never unlocked them though.

Don't think that far ahead! Have to get by the big fucker first, then worry about finding the way out. If he corners me, I will be dead. Think. There has to be a way out of this area. A door, something! Where did he come from?

Meanwhile, I felt the tremors as Chris pummeled another door into oblivion. Three earsplitting crunches, followed by the earth splinting tremor as the wood gave, allowing the big fucker to hunt new ground. I had to think carefully, if he couldn't enter a room he would tear his way in, by whatever means. But I wouldn't be completely trapped if he found me here, a second door was set a few feet down from where I entered.

After some careful consideration I came to a decision, not one I was particularly fond of, but it was better than waiting for him to burst into the room. I had maybe one chance, unless I could find another room to hide in before he saw me.

I made sure I had a firm grip on the camera, then loosened myself from the desk I was crouched beside and crossed to the door at the other side of the room. Both needed to be open, this room was my plan B if the other plan went to shit.

I leaned on the door frame to check out, the light failed to reach this end of the hall forcing me behind the NV feed once more. It set me to ease, I was less likely to be seen poking out with my camera scanning for the big fucker. I felt the trademark crunching of oak, before I caught the movement of his work. I felt the wall quake with a final crash and the large shape slipped out of sight.

I dashed across the hall into a joint corridor filled with dark shadows, but to my disappointment discovered the end was a blocked by a grate and some office chairs. Nonetheless, I climbed over the chairs to test the handle and myself, that there was no way through here. I returned to the main corridor and knelt by the corner to check. Chris was coming this way!

My visor flashed, and I slunk back as the feed cleared. The sound of chain twitter drew closer and closer, oddly reminiscent to the noise I thought I heard. It was unbearable in this place and time, I pressed myself into the wall struggling to block it out. The whole time I'm half ready to bolt or half working to rub down the nerve to keep still until the absolute last second. The sounds give way to splinting and a crack as the big fucker threw himself against another door. It was enough to drown out the tremors in my muscles.

Until the door gave a final snap and shattered. I poked my head out to confirm he had entered a room, somewhere. My next target was a door across from me, the hairline crack of light shone through the dismal hall. I couldn't make out where Chris had gone, I only wanted to get into that room and out before I was cornered there. My worst fear was that it would be another tiny broom closet.

I swatted the door open and entered, it wasn't a tiny closet, it was a tiny lounge. A long table ran parallel to the back wall, some chairs pinned behind it, high on the wall to my right was a large screen splattered with dry blood. What caught my attention was a vent that cut through the room overhead, dust or condensation spilled across the ceiling. The flue above the table had snapped partially and hung sideways by two screws.

I slammed the door shut and dragged out one of the chairs and braced it under the handle. That might buy me some time. I doubt I had much time to work, in the past ten seconds I had not been discrete with my activities. The screws didn't look sturdy, they were tiny and the vent looked ready to fall off. But when I climbed onto the table prepared to wrestle it off, the screws held tight.

No thank you, I was not going to roll over and take this. Once securing the camera in its pack, I reached over and pulled up another chair. They were light enough I could get one above my head with minimal pain, I braced myself as I swung the legs out across the grate. It echoed and bent, but held. A second attack caught the chairs leg in the grating, and I wrenched ripping one screw loose. The cover fell and I dumped the chair in order to clamber into the opening/exit.

Before I could heave myself up into the flue, I paused to glance one last time at the static filled screen. The mist swirled around the pulsing light of the screen, but there was something more. Some… sort of image? The crackle filled my skull as I gazed, senses lost. The distant recollection that Chris still hunted for me was there, but…

I reached for the camera, but decided against it. For one, the image was overlapped. I raised my hand against the bright screen and the image was still clear, unobstructed by my hand. I leaned back as it fluctuated and squirmed, just like the thing I saw in the dark. It's face—

Without a thought I clambered up into the vent, my head throbbing. Just keep going. The way out, it can't be much further. This vent must lead back to the main room, if not, wherever I wound up I could navigate somewhere more tolerable from there.

One side was bared shut, I didn't need to bother with it either. I struggled to get my camera out of its case, then turned and shuffled in the opposite direction, to where dead eyes gazed at me. At some distance I had to stop and stare back. A sharp pain bore its way into the back of my skull, and I pressed my forehead into the cool metal and held out as the pain pulsed. I'll get through this. Need to keep moving.

A draft moved from my right, I crawled into the connecting vent trying to bear with the throbs beating my brain. A short ways in and the vent twisted further to the right and opened into another office. I shut off the NV to rest my eyes and pulled forward, to drop gently onto the sticky flood.

Blood trickled beneath the only doorway, I didn't want to imagine what might lay on the other side. A book shelf had toppled spilling files and psychology volumes across the floor, a desk was beside the wall with another shelf that remained upright and stacked with more boxes and files. Bottom line, it was another dead end.

Some of the files I sifted through mentioned some of the shady work of the Asylum, with some of the patients BEFORE Mount Massive was shut down. There remained current files, and many of the lower level staff expressed the usual concerns and confusion with the lack of progress their patients made with standardized treatment.

_From: .com_

_To: .com_

_subject: Patient WILLIAM HOPE _

_Heya Cindy~ _

_Another "interesting" conversation with Billy this morning. He says he's been talking to Dr. Wernicke again for his therapy "in the white place." I'm disturbed by the fact his delusions have only gotten worse with medication, (which isn't in the literature for benzodiazepine.) _

_In any case, his dead doctor friend is filling his head with German folklore. Apparently the only thing that can kill the Walrider are vampiric butterflies vomited from a demon called "Horerczy." the butterflies suck the breath from people's lips and drink blood from their nipples. They can also take the form of emaciated upright pigs, or sick dogs. So Billy's got that going for him. _

_You'd mentioned Billy talking about his mother's tattoos before, are any of them by chance tattoos of butterflies? Next time I get outside of the Murkoff firewall, I'm going to look online and see if there's any actual basis in German folklore, or if Billy's making this garbage up from whole cloth. _

_Would love to compare notes sometime. Wouldn't mind doing it over a glass of wine. ;). Gets lonely up here on Two._

– _Kurt_

Billy Hope. I'm sure I've heard the name mentioned a few times before.

I sat on the desk and pressed my fingers over my brow, hoping to steady the pain.

What was his connection to the Walrider? He was one of the failed experiments, but like all the other patients he was apparently having dreams about the dead doctor. _"Wernicke's waiting for me there._" I shuddered at the recollection. None of them had ever… seen Wernicke. I had to remind myself, he had not lived long enough to reach the Asylum. They knew about him through their dreams. A sort of mass hallucination, more of Murkoff's tampering and conditioning, the H therapy. _"Blood dreams,_" Billy reportedly called it. He was dead to them because they only encountered him in dream. That was how the dead doctor performed his experiments on the living patients. What a chilling epiphany.

Vampiric Butterflies.

I snorted out a laugh as I flopped back onto the desk. I wonder if there was a Horerczy in the area I could rent out.

The vent seemed colder this time, the floor too painful to touch with my bare hands. I curled my fingers into my coat sleeves to ward off some of the chill as I crawled back into the section with the stiff corpse. I pushed my face against my collar and made an effort not to breath in the thick fumes of flesh, fetid in the tight walls about my shoulders. It only made matters worse that his dried out eyes were fixed on me while I moved closer. God, he looked awful. He needed to be out of my way. I stuffed my camera into the pack and pressed my hands against the fabric of his greasy shirt. Ugh.

There was so much wrong with this, I couldn't begin. His neck and spine gave a gruesome crack as his body tumbled out of the vent, and a dull _Thwack!_ came from below when he hit. Sounded like a rotten watermelon I dropped out of a tree once. A few of the insects nesting in his corpse took flight and hummed about, dazed and agitated. I gazed down and braced myself to drop, didn't need to go trampling his corpse too.

This place. I knew this place. It felt like a long time ago, but I'll never forget the window I went flying out of. Or… the place that it had begun. I was standing in the glassed in upper floor where I had first entered Mount Massive. I walked along the wall towards the stacked and crammed bookcases and desks, where the big fucker first welcomed me into the Asylum. The small gap I had entered was stuffed with broken chairs and another cabinet, it looked as though the big guy had tried to climb over the slaughter of furniture himself, with poor results. I tried to crawl over myself. This was the beginning of the nightmare, it would only be fitting as the end.

The first shelf I attempted to scale cracked, I flopped forward catching myself on my hand as the entire collection of furniture shifted, nearly pinning my arm. It did, the corner of a chair pinned my right hand with the exposed bone. A strangled yowl lurched from my throat before I slapped a filthy hand over my mouth to stifle the sound, I sobbed briefly as the nerves blazed in my knuckle. Why did I think that was a good idea? I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my free hand against the chair's legs in order to twist my hand free, then crumpled to the floor holding my wrist. That had been stupid. My shoulders trembled but I continued to hold my hand, allowing blood to collect along my fingers.

The door to the library was open, that sickly familiar sweet decay climbed out on some invisible draft. What irony it'd be if I stumbled in to find a concealed way to the exit, the discovery would be the last nail in the coffin. I shuddered at the allegory.

The room was dark, I needed my camera out anyway. I did my best to scrap some of the blood from my hand, onto a cleaner section of my shirt. Insects invaded my space, attracted to scent of death that clung to me, and the fresh blood that spilled. I didn't have the time or energy to dissuade their persistence, to acknowledge them reminded me of the state I was currently in.

For a short while I held the camera awkwardly in my left hand, while the right continued to bleed out. Blood stains led into the room, but I expected worse awaited inside. I stood at the edge of the black veil and listened keenly for sounds, the labored snorts of a man with his face fuck started off. I don't think I could survive another toss out a window. I entered slowly, it was quiet but for a subtle trickling—

Something flittered in my vision, I sprang back against the door frame. Nothing was there, I was imagining things. The camera kept buzzing. My heart was racing.

Rows of bookshelves filled the room, it looked like they had meetings here with the two tables set together near the back, along with a dry erase board shoved into the corner. The wall was lined with windows and what little light that found its way in, washed across the papers scattered over the floor and desks. The few pages I looked over had heavy black bars censoring every other sentence or line. What shocked me most about this room was the lack of corpses despite the musty odor in the air. I recalled what lay in the rooms not far from my current position, and decided not to dwell on the matter further.

I stepped around a filing cabinet and rows of bookshelves, pausing as the feed sputtered but returned to normal. I resumed, locating the desk set before the furthest window, with two – one monitor stationed on it. The fractured lens made it appear as though there were two monitors. A few files sat on the desk, which I took up as I ventured to check the other side of the room. It was so quiet it was eerie, I could hear my heart thumping in my chest as I rounded the bookshelf half expecting some madman to lunge out at me screaming. When I focused on the NV it felt as though I had seen someone, heard them too. I had to pause and hold my head while the echo subsided. Nothing there. My nerves. My stomach twisted and I waited for the nausea to pass.

At the front of the room was a cracked door jammed in its frame, on the left a few chairs and a small table with a shriveled up plant on it. I reached out and stroked the brittle leaves and watched as they snapped under the gentle touch.

The potted plant was a metaphor for me. It was trapped in an Asylum, shriveled up and pretty much dead, yet, it still stood here in its dry potting soil. It still looked like a plant. And here I was, torn to shit, my mind scrambled, jumping at every sound, and I was using a plant as a metaphor for my life. This was a nice little reprieve, felt like things were almost normal again. But that grainy sound I couldn't shake. It had to be in the walls.

I returned to the light outside, first peering around the door frame before I emerged fully and sat beside the door. The folder was a little worn and its spine flimsy, but it carried more files than it should. Black specks had dried across the front, which I already knew to be blood. I tried to ignore the way my beat up hands quivered as I focused the camera and took images of some of the pages, I think some I didn't bother to let the lens focus enough.

_(Translated from German) _

_BERLIN _

_ _6 . Sept . _1938 _

_Reichsleiter Lohner and _

_Dr. Med. Rogge _

_I have pressing news concerning the ongoing work of Dr. Rudolph Wernicke in his development of the Morphogenic Engine, expanding on theories developed during his brief but unfortunate relationship with A. Turing. _

_If I had not witnessed it myself, I would not believe it had happened. But beyond even the promise in cellular regeneration and guided cancerogeneration, I believe Wernicke's method has breached the spiritual realm. Something has crossed from the other side. I personally witnessed the appearance of an apparition. Briefly, but undeniably so. _

_Please forward my note, and invitation to witness further experiments to Dietrich Eckart. I do not doubt that the Fuhrer himself may need be made aware of our discoveries. _

_It is my opinion that Dr. Wernicke's successes represent an enormous opportunity for our cause and the German people, and are obviously sufficient reasons to keep him out of any sort of culling program. Regards to your family. _

_(signature illegible)_

That shed some light on nothing in particular, other than confirming that Wernicke had begun the work that Murkoff was involved with. The morphogenic engine. It felt like everything I had seen, reading and gathering, was all being repeated back to me. But it was starting to make sense what the pages were saying. The sounds I was hearing, they couldn't really be there. I shut my eyes and for a moment lay back against the wall and focused on the hum in my muscles.

Something was in the air of this place, transmitting through the walls and reverberating through the molecules. A sub level drone of something constant, a persistent noise that never had a beginning that I could identify, something in the mountain air. As I concentrated the sound almost dispersed entirely, until it was null. If I untangled myself from the chorus, the slightest edges of it crept back into my mind until it hurt like my bones were on fire.

I gripped my camera tighter, solidifying my consciousness in this place, in my private set of molecules. The blood was drying on my hand, sticking between my fingers and the device, yet I didn't care. I sat up more and felt the tremors rolling through my muscles. Had to get up, walk this… whatever it was off. I turned myself, keeping a hand on the wall for support as I moved. There was a door I had avoided up until now, beside where I entered above from the vent. A bright red and yellowed stain had spread down the wallpaper from the outlet, where the body had bled out. Even lying folded in his ragdoll mess of spoiled muscle and skin, the dead man's eyes seemed focused on me as I hobbled by. I hid my face beside my arm as I reached for the door.

I leaned into the Plexiglas dismayed that it would be locked, until I realized it needed to be PULLED open. I dragged it shut behind me and took in this side of the room. Stairs on my right led down to the ground floor, before them at the wall was a segregation gate that I judged to be locked. Red and smeared footprints crossed from the left side portion of the room, from an elevator, to directly where I stood. They were large prints, twice the size of an elephant's foot. The big fucker could work the elevator? What next? Was he capable of learning how to open doors? Shit.

"You're him?" I hesitated from tracking the steps on the carpet. The voice called from the other side of the elevator, behind a segregation gate that jutted out onto the floor. "Yes. I'm supposed to tell you— the key to the House of God is in the theater. Behind the light."

There was some good distance between him and myself. I just stared at him, probably blankly, I probably looked stupid. "Huh?"

"In the theater," he indicated to my left with his hand, "behind the light."

I wasn't really on the same page as him. I shut my eyes and lowered the camera as the image pulsed. "B- what?"

"You have to see the movie. So that's where he left the card. Okay?"

This was not making any sense. "Did you say card?"

We glanced off in unison, distracted by Father Martin's voice hailing from somewhere distant. And far. "Friends! Children!" Not far enough from me. "I need your help, where are you?" I sighed.

"Yes! Coming. I'm coming." The 'disciple' sounded about as thrilled as I was. He gave one last wave toward the open door on my left, before turning and jogging up the stairs behind him. It looked like he was following the path indicated with a red arrow painted on the wall behind the railing.

I tried the handle. Locked. Of course, he already told me I needed the key from the 'House of God' as he put it. How was I supposed to get in if I didn't get it? Why WAS I going to find it? I don't know. I was insatiable curious to figure out this disaster and understand at long last, why I have been hunted and nearly killed by these lunatics.

I needed to know. Even if it killed me. I needed evidence of what I've been hearing, the reassurance that I was still sane despite the trauma, despite everything I had seen. There was a concrete difference between what the patients thought they had witnessed, and what I felt. I had to find the end of this, and nothing would stop me, not until it was in my grasp.


	19. Chapter 19

Null of Light

There was a soured and puffy body behind me the whole time. I barely noticed when I spun around, the coagulated blood on my shoes stuck to the carpet. I studied it for a few seconds, a long streak of black lead to the gate the disciple had indicated. Follow the Blood.

The segregation gate was wide open leading into a corridor, my new course. I decided the gate at the opposite end of the room was indeed locked, only to save me the 'long' walk to confirm this. I didn't immediately begin off on my new tour, but stood in a daze as my mind caught up to current events. I had barely escaped an encounter with the big fucker and returned to the modern section of the Asylum, the area I had first encountered the nightmares that would micromanage my… I wouldn't define it as 'progress.' Liberation? I couldn't come up with wording that wasn't cliché or cheap. I just wanted out, that's it.

Some of my rational was clearing, though my head throbbed and it was hard to think. The lights, the lights were too intense for my eyes. Maybe if I wasn't staring into the cracked visor every second, but I barely realized the way I had it, angled beside my face and my posture was kinked. I'd spent too long glued to the camera. Damn, I didn't give a fuck anymore.

The flies were getting on my nerves, roused as I worked. They couldn't decided who they preferred more, the corpse or me. The dead researcher didn't have much on him when he perished, but I didn't think I was the first to poke through his pockets. There was a penlight and a wallet, and that's it. It was morally wrong, I'm aware of that, but I opened his wallet and went through it. Found a picture of the guy when he was alive with his family. It was a classic picture, mom and dad and the kid, out in the front yard of a house that looked at home in some middle class neighborhood, probably a city or town I'd never hear about. My mind wondered where his kid had gone, the picture didn't look old, not the same as some treasured artifact parents wore to death within the month. Just a memory. Was his wife wondering where he went? Did she care enough to contact authorities? I was here, I guess not.

I tucked the picture into my notepad, in a clean space with no writing. I flipped through the crisp pages, they had gotten wet from the multiples times I was soaked. The pocket was waterproof but not submersible, water managed to seep through the zipper. Some of the pages stuck, but I could work on that later. I replaced the small booklet in its pocket, then examined the penlight over. It had two batteries. Currently, my camera was running low on NV and I had a spare. I'd probably need them, whatever amount of energy they had.

The blood still squelched under my shoes as I moved over the plush carpet, to the open gate. For some reason the sensation unnerved me. Of course it would, I'd be disconcerting if it didn't. But it was as though I was reliving the Asylum all over, from the beginning. I'd had enough, I didn't want to be reminded. I wanted to let go of this place and leave it far behind me. Let go, move on, and heal. I needed to heal. There would be scarring though. Deep, hidden, ugly scars.

The door in the hall was glass and distorted, but locked. I peered through, seeing nothing in particular but more hall and a functioning lamp at some distance. I didn't linger. The hall cut to the right, blood stains on the wall and floor caught my eye, where a patient might have been shot. Cracks and pop marks curved over the plaster, but no bodies. I continued, following the direction a plate labeled Recreational Hall, indicated with an arrow. That would probably be the best place to start looking for a theater. I thought there was a new resonance in the air, but ignored it. I was worked up enough, though I felt a creeping sense that I wasn't alone. Not here in this hall under these bright lights, I gave the stained walls a glance but saw no cameras. I was alone and isolated.

The next right dead ended at a door that refused to open. I tried to force the handle, but someone had forgotten to unlock it for me, or it was locked intentionally. I would have to force it, but I didn't think I had the strength.

There had been an open door a ways back, it lead into a dark room I wanted to overlook. It was careless, I was getting careless, but I almost didn't care anymore.

I stood in the doorway, fumbling for the NV switch until the green visor flashed in my face. Nothing in the immediate range stood out, just a room with windows and drapes. Was I hearing… music? A piano? It didn't sound like a radio, I could feel the melody through the walls as did my bones. Just my head churning, I had difficulty focusing. I entered the room, abruptly blasted by my old adversary of putrid air. I was beginning to miss the smell of wet char.

The camera buzzed as the image distorted, I paused to wait it out and listened as the music continued. A pool table sat on the right, sticks still placed on the top with Q-balls scattered hither and yonder. Large cushioned chairs lined the wall on the left, with another of Murkoff's trademark dried out plants. The far side of the wall was set up with an entertainment center, complete with DVDs stacked on the desk by the flat screen. While stepping beside the pool table I was spooked by my reflection in the screen, until I realized the angle was wrong.

When I spun about the image failed in the visor, I waited as my heart thumped, until the static cleared. By then there was nothing, just the familiar impression in my memories, a shape vaguely…. If someone was following, I needed to keep on the move.

I continued toward the pool table, trying not to focus on the reflective surface of the screen. A body, and the source of reek within the room, appeared in the gloom on the floor, a blood streak led to the fallen Researcher, or was it doctor? It might've been the person that bled in the hall, before he dragged himself in here to die. He was shot, punch holes clear even through the cracked visor. I carefully stepped over the body, listening as the gentle tune rose in volume.

On the other side of the pool table, a large split between the floor and lower wall was formed. The destruction was organized, no evidence of the materials lay nearby but dust and splinters, the crevice was carved out in a rectangular shape, much like a door. This detour made little sense, but I questioned nothing of the rationality of those left responsible after Murkoff's demise. I couldn't complain, either.

The hole led into a sizable storage closet, with a broken locker and some spare tables. They looked small, maybe a little outdated, probably donated by some preschool from the 40s. A door across on my right led out into a short hall with more lockers and a small stool with a radio on top of it. I tried the nobs but it had no power. Aside from that the hall was a dead end, leading to a segregation gate that was locked.

I returned to the storage closet and found the ladder at the side, which led up to a higher level. Not really a floor, just a loft with railing barring the sides. Crates and some empty boxes were stacked along walls that appeared outdated, eroded and neglected. Likewise, the wood was as outdated and an archaic quality took the design, this must have been an area where the old asylum and Murkoff section merged. Or this side was shut away when Murkoff reopened the asylum.

The railing shut the loft in, but across from my position the barrier didn't fully block in the floor. Beside the opening stretched a thin ledge I was certain my feet would fit on. Though there was enough light on the wall lamps that lit up the hall, I still felt comfort with the camera out in case I saw something interesting or caught a glimpse of the shapes that plagued my mind. It was easier to hold the camera beside my shoulder as I shuffled along the wall, without cramming it against my eye.

This area was in disrepair, but not as far gone as the other side of the Asylum where the building was condemned. The walls were chipped and the paint had worn away years ago, and some of the cables running wires across the walls needed to be updated. But it was still standing, and had not been completely demolished by hells cleansing fire.

That was bad. And I felt bad for coming up with it.

The segregation gate extended up to the ceiling, except for a thin gap in the side where the ledge extended, due to practicality in construction most likely. I squeezed through, then leaned low judging the distance to a set of lockers across from me. The lockers shook under my weight and I had to pause to let the ache settle. I pondered if my backside was bleeding again, it felt like my coat had crystalized to the wound and that spot was nearly numb now, which worried me. I crouched down and slipped to the wood floor. The piano music was close now, somewhere in this hall with me? I weaved around tall stacks of crates, coming to what I knew must be the source.

I turned my head to a reinforced door nailed shut, my sudden commotion must've prompted the sharp key that was struck. The sudden sound startled me as it rung in my ears painfully. My camera was already leveled by my eyes, I didn't have the presence of mind to adjust or check what I was filming, my mind too occupied by the shape beyond the windows thin screen.

The man rose from his seat and approached the door, I made a pitiful sound when he stopped and gazed through the mesh at me, then tilt his head. I couldn't be certain, but it looked like his eyelids had been trimmed away. As a result they had a fishy, glass like quality. This procedure seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't recall where it was I had seen it. I stared back as he tilt his head the other way, and once satisfied, walked away. Just like that.

I let out a small gasp as I continued to stare into the room, with the softly burning candle atop the piano. Briefly, I wondered what he had been like before he was mutilated. What if he had never been a patient?

I backed away and turned, on the left a doorway stood waiting, with no visible door to shut. At one point it had a door, but time changes these things. I crept close to the frame on one side and peered into the room. The lights were too bright, and a dull hum had filled the air with the pianist's absence. I missed it, I missed the somber tune.

The floor had pieces of plaster scattered, that had chipped from the walls. A short stack of wood steps led up to a platform built four feet above the floor, beneath, a few boxes and other rubbish had been shoved up under the tight storage space between the two floors. More lockers were set along the crumbling wall on my left, the platform at my right was built along a corner, electrical panels built beside the platform for easy access, their outdated cables extended along the walls and to the lamps burning their hot light. A few feet beside them, a doorway.

No sign of life, no sound or disturbance that I could detect. I crept to the stairs keeping my movement slow and quiet. I would be in a bad way if I was surprised here, in the unforgiving yellow blaze. I never thought I'd just despise the light, but its bright artificial glaze aggravated my head. It warmed the air around my body, yet I had a chill in my skin. I was uncertain if the under layer of my coat was still damp or if I was imagining it.

Little comfort was to be had in the shadows, where it was I could never know what exactly skipped at the edges of the cracked visor. I stalled in the doorway atop the upper floor. I thought there was something, I felt it in my mind. But as always, nothing. There was nothing, and never would there be something. I had to keep reminding myself that.

I massaged my eyes then gave the shadows another scrutiny. Nothing but a wall of black, the air heavy with a stale musk tinted by ancient wood. I shivered and changed out the battery, before I shuffled through the broken doorframe. Through the NV I could make out the stacks of empty shelves, pieces of boards and plywood leaning on walls. A mop and a janitorial bucket had been abandoned in this little closet space, some towels or long sheets had been left to decay along the edges of the wall. Some of the tattered cloth appeared to have been slept in, at some point or another.

I maneuvered around the furniture, getting a little lost as I tried to find my way out of the space. I climbed atop a shelf but it went nowhere, it was just a small space I could get onto and get nowhere.

Finally, I stumbled upon an opening I had probably walked by five times, where a pallet had been set aside. More of the large dirt tinged cloth was left to dangle on my right, over a wall of the room I was about to enter. I balanced on the boards angled over the edge, and stopped in my tracks to view the room filled with chairs and the eyes of a dozen people gazing at me.

Corpses. Victims of this place. I calmed my nerves as I tensed and dropped down onto the floor below, my shoes thudded on the hollow wood. I took a few steps forward scanning the eyes, and listened to the strange sound of blood on my shoes. There was a puddle where I dropped down, there was always blood. With my camera I zoomed and scanned the room for movement, it was nothing but a house of corpses. The hair on my neck prickled. What was I sent here for? Something specific.

Many of the chairs had been scooted aside forming a straight path towards the back of the room, and those red, large familiar words that red EXIT. I would start there, if not it could be my escape out.

I only paused to stare on a stiff cadaver slumped back in his wheelchair, when the lights above burned into focus, and I whirled away as the white cloth was agitated by an image. I blinked a few times, then turned off the NV when the spots in my eyes cleared somewhat. I moved to crouch low beside a chair, away from the man in the wheelchair. The screen had a spray of blood across one corner, and a broken support beam had rotten and fallen, to slant across and catch squirming vapor.

"…exit interview recorded December 27th, 1985 Los Alamos, New Mexico."

The movie. This was what the disciple meant. I was to see this movie, and the key was… here somewhere?

"Clearance Sierra Alpha. Subject DR. Rudolf Wernicke. 14866." I slipped up into a seat, and set my elbows on the back of the chair before me, in order to hold the camera steady. Those images….

"The films are real." What was I seeing?

"There was no alteration to the footage at all?" The guy had a clean voice, sounded formal, maybe with the CIA. Possibly bureaucratic, I couldn't decide what. "No trickery."

"None."

"In June of 1943 you recorded three instances of spontaneous bleeding. A half dozen test subjects began to develop brain tumors."

"Yes. The autopsies revealed that the tumors were pure lead." A heavy accent, easily German native. This was… Dr. Wernicke's voice?

I rested my chin on my arm but kept the camera aimed and steady, though there was nothing to film. At least, I don't think—

"It killed them?" Oh… god. "Can you explain why the results could not be reproduced in the United States?"

"I have my theories. My homeland, in those years." He paused here, as though trying to work through the memories that came with his explanation. "It's impossible to understand the things we felt. What we believed."

Germany during World War II was probably one of the most accurate descriptions of hell on Earth. Or, what we perceived as hell. The Auschwitz camps that claimed the lives of so many people, children, their families. I felt tears spilling down my cheek, and buried my face in my arm.

"The overwhelming fear. Ecstatic rage and…." He trailed off. "English words are insufficient."

Tremors clutched my body, and I lowered the camera to the chairs backside, unsure if it was still recording the screen. I didn't give a fuck, couldn't tell what I was staring at. The swirling pain, indescribable things nesting in my mind. What was I seeing? I wrapped my arms around my face and cried into them. Heavy sobs, I need this, I just needed to do this right now.

"More than hope. A human mind in that environment is capable of extraordinary things."

Fuck you.

"You're saying the experiment needed…."

"A proximity to death. To overwhelming madness. Only a test subject who had witnessed enough horror was capable of activating the engine."

The engine. The Morphogenic Engine.

"Do you believe your test subjects achieved something supernatural?"

"No."

"Do you think they contacted something supernatural?"

"Nothing is supernatural."

At this point the speaker sounded dubious, if not interested in Wernicke's answer. "Then what was it? You said project WALRIDER was a gateway. A gateway to what?"

Eventually my sobs did calm down and I sat up in the chair waiting for the interview to continue. But Dr. Wernicke never answered, or the audio cut off. I took a deep breath through my nose and settled my frayed thoughts. I think my coat smelled awful, it was brittle and gritty with dried mud from the Asylum's grounds, but none of that mattered. I'd been submerged in death and pain for too long. I pulled my face from my arms and rubbed a hand over my short hair, I flinched at the unfamiliar gap in my fingers. Where? Where did I go now?

Not just here, but after this? I wasn't going to be normal once I got out. I brought my hand down and stared at what remained of my ring finger. Aside from being unable to count down from five on one hand. My vision fell beyond to the screen, and I shut my eyes. I was going to get out of this. No one, no damn dead doctor was going to keep me trapped in this nightmare.

"_The man sounds like Dr. Strangelove's anemic brother. It's a twenty-five year old audio recording, and interview with this Dr. Wernicke. Los Alamos means government work. Wernicke talks about spontaneous bleeding, tumors in psychosomatic reactions in sufficiently disturbed people. Seems to walk a line between science and Nazi mysticism._

"_Only a test subject who had witnessed enough horror was capable of activating the engine." The Morphogenic Engine._

_The Engine. The movie they're projecting. It gets in my head like a song you can't stop humming. I blink and I see Rorschach tests that look like swarming insects and infected surgery wounds._

_The patients talk about using the Engine to conjure the Walrider. It's the buzzing I hear in my bones._"

I fit the little booklet back into its pocket and adjusted the camera on my hand. Whatever their plans, I would try not to get too involved with them. I planned to get out of here long before they did anything else, short of blowing the place sky high.

The bodies of Murkoff and their victims dot a few of the seats, their dead eyes saw through me to the screen. Blood splattered the floor, from the wounded before dying. I tilt my head as a few of the insects aroused by the light and noise began to settle on me, but my contest with them was impossible. Their interest in my wounds was the least of my concerns.

The path to the back of the room was straight forward, I didn't have a burning desire to climb over chairs and make a ruckus, though it was apparent someone knew I was here. Near the back where the rows of chairs ended, some tables were left with Researchers placed at or around each. Throats torn out, torsos shredded, entrails spilling across their laps. I began to wonder who had set the corpses up, and to what purpose? To educate them? This was an Asylum, so that seemed the most sensible reason.

Acrid light slid from a wide doorway on my left, where I took would gain access to the projector room. Or close enough. He said behind the light, I watched their damn 'movie.'

When I stepped into the light I paused and finished drying my face with the collar of my coat. There was no sound but for the tick of the projector still running its images, I tried not to think about them. I stood in the doorway not particularly looking at anything, just picking up the air. No one was in the room, not with me here, no. A desk, lockers, and the dead tone of a phone off the hook. On the floor at the other side of the room, a streak of blood slipped under a door. I tossed the door behind me shut and moved to stand before the next portal, the only direction provided. Blood trails. Father Martin wanted me to follow blood trails. It was only coming back to me how morbid this was, among the fact that this mark at my feet could have as easily been made by someone dying, as it could have been Martin's doing.

A hall lined with lockers and stacks of boxes greeted me. The NV whirred as the image spazzed, I pulled the door shut after me as I gave it a moment to clear. Each time the camera did this my heart rate accelerated. Eventually, when I least expected it, the camera would die completely.

_Damn it Miles, stop thinking like that! Pull yourself together. Not gonna die here_.

As I was walking forward, one of the open lockers snapped shut. The visor flashed and buzzed with static, I waited until it was clear before I took soft steps towards the door.

"You have to find Wernicke. Only way."

I could see the eyes of the person inside glitter in NV as he stared back at me. I didn't wait around. Another source of light spilled from the end of the hall. A door was nestled in the wall on my left as I neared the light, but I could view through the small mesh, the theater and the images still playing across the room on the screen. No doubt the stairs on my right went up to the projector room, but an accessible room needed to be searched before I became lost or stuck someplace, which was usually the case in the dilapidated Asylum. Above the door a cross hung. It's meaning to me in this place, somehow lost. I found it to be a cruel artifact left by soulless men.

The light filled a stage wing of the theater, four or five steps raised up to a short upper portion of the floor, directly to a door that must've opened into the back area of the stage where I entered through. I couldn't recall a door present in the tiny closet I had been lost in for a full five minutes. Industrial shelves filled with broken boxes and files lined the wall on the right, numerous large planks of wood were left propped beside shelves. Best as spare shelves rather barricading doors, it didn't appear as though these materials had been bothered with.

I poked through the shelves and boxes, selecting a few folders that might hold details that would enlighten me further about this engine, or anything related to the Walrider folklore.

_From: murkoffcorp . us . com_

_To: murkoffcorp . us . com_

_subject: re: FLESH EATING BACTERIA ?!_

Wash those hands regularly. : )

on September 19, 2013, at 4:19 AM, GRANT

_murkoffcorp . us . com wrote: Necrotizing fasciitis? Really? I fucking quit._

Trager's loopy uncle? I doubt G. Williard got far with that. I took in the date on the file, September, the nineteenth. This was an important document to record, it indicated that the Asylum was still running routinely until mid September. This correlated with the state of decay I had viewed the bodies scattered everywhere. A big however, my Mutemail admission was dated on the seventeenth. Given, I didn't receive the email until the Twenty-third. Most emails had a schedule release, Mutemail encouraged the feature.

What was relevant about these corresponding emails? Give me a minute, it's hard to keep these dates and files straight in my head. I sat down on the platform and set the file on my lap. Three emails, three emails, between five of Murkoff's staff, and myself. The relevant files had dates, that included the Whistle Blowers admission and Williard's 'resignation.' Was it important a date had been attached to the Mutemail, though it had been scheduled to be sent? It depended on whether or not my contact wanted me to know the date the message was composed. It could have been a Red Herring, but Mutemail was anonymous, it didn't matter if anyone knew the date or not, as long as it couldn't be proven who wrote it.

"…_but seriously, fuck those guys._"

There was no doubt in my mind, that my contact was dead. I think I should have felt some remorse, a tinge of guilt. But I couldn't. And I didn't crave the satisfaction that might've come if I imagined his death to have been painful, but I wanted to pretend this was all his fault, even if it weren't true. I don't know what happened here, I don't know who started the chain reaction to this corporate fuck up, but I hoped to never find out. I hoped to god I never found out.

There were no other files that struck my fancy, and some had been damaged by water at one point making their contents unintelligible. I returned to the dark hall, and paused to let my feed clear before I gazed up the stairs I passed previously. The steps creaked as I began up, I could feel the forgotten wood shift under my weight, the sounds of the projector beat at my skull the higher I climbed. I just wanted to get that key and get out of this place, even if it was back to the dormitories of the Asylum, my brain felt like it'd been punctured by a few hundred tiny needles.

More boxes, crates forgotten and stacked on a makeshift shelf assembled on the loft. Blood covered most of them, smelt decayed. I tried the door on my right, only to be disappointed. I should just accept that if it has the capacity to inconvenience me, it must. I messed around with crates before me, wondering if I could climb over. I crouched down and found several could be pushed out easily under the plank of wood. I crawled under the space, and kept low as I took in the other side. The image on the camera died for a few seconds before it flashed back, blinding me momentarily like a mean trick. Don't you turn against me too, camera.

The space was empty aside from a desk by the left wall, across the room another door. I tried the handle but it felt stuck. With a firm push from my shoulder the it gave, and I coughed as my ribs shifted. The next attic held yet more heaps of crates lining the walls, and a few in my path. I flinched when something shifted at the visors edge, expecting a variant or whatever else. When I blinked it was gone, and I was dubious if there had been something there to begin with. Still, my wrist and knees tingled, but I attributed it to paranoia. The images from the screen persisted to swirl in my mind, no matter where memories delved, they were there twisting. Burned into my retinas.

I continued, a bit shaken but I'd walk it off. I slipped over the scarce group of crates stacked in my path, in order to reach a light pouring from a window on the right side of the room. A shelf of reels of varying sizes was set beside the door. This was it.

A wheelie coatrack with thin hangars clinging to it, gave no resistance as I pushed it aside, my eyes fixed on the bright shape of the window. There was little I could make out through the mesh and glass, a broken corpse sat nearly decapitated, his head hung sideways by the remaining tendons. Another stack of reels sat beside him on the desk, and the audible click of the projector within the room. As I pushed the door open, the knob snapped out of my hand and I was face to face with one of the patient's glaring me in the eye. I leapt backwards hitting a crate with my thigh and tumbled to my side as the door slammed shut. Fuck!

Hard foot falls grew fainter and fainter as I crawled away from the door. Was I safe? He didn't chase me. What was that all about? Where did my camera go? It was still in my hand, the loop was too tight for it to slip loose.

I curled up between some boxes and wrapped an arm along my side where my ribs pulsed, some were indeed broken but not enough that it would hinder my movement if I was careful. Slamming into doors and falling onto hard floors just didn't help.

It sounded as though the patient had run off. I would be petrified if I wasn't so damn irritated with all of this. It had been a nasty surprise. He was gone, just needed to calm myself and untangle my body. The camera seemed fine, when I'd fallen I'd tried to break my fall on my right arm. My swollen hand tingled as sensation returned but otherwise, I couldn't feel it below the wrist. I avoid checking it through the NV as well, unsettled by what I might see. It was probably bleeding again.

I held no motivation to enter the room, key or not. I'm not exactly sure what I planned to do, but I didn't want to hang around the projector room. I returned to the loft with the stacked crates fitted on the makeshift shelf, and could see between the gaps the illumination from the doorway that was prior locked. I would continue to doubt the patient was gone, even if I did hear his footfalls leave. I couldn't afford to be reckless, it was becoming a bad habit. I avoided the issues because it disturbed me, and I didn't want to dwell too long on how much I was… changing. I wasn't the same man that crawled through the open window.

I stopped beside the crates to ponder this. Worst mistake of my career, but I was almost out, wasn't I? I was nearly done. Please let it be so.

There was no sound, nothing I could hear over the rattle of that damn projector. I slipped under the shelf and crawled over to peer around the doorframe, finding nothing much, not even a room. It was a small balcony with little space, aside from teasing me with a view of the projector room across the house. Looking to the wall once more I noted that there was a small decorative wall protrusion I might/could trust my weight on. I hopped the rail and set my feet on the edge, testing traction before scooting along, again with the camera shoved up into my face. The side of the lens that was cracked distorted the image of my hand pressed to the wall, making it look like the scarred remains of some of the patients.

I struggled not to shake at the thought with my back pressed into the crumbling plaster, as it was I had very little space to balance. I pushed myself around the inner edge and came to another of the corners that had given me trouble outside, but without the rain and chill I was able to make it with no complication. The rail ahead was bright with the blinding flicker of the movie. I took a moment to secure the damn camera before I leapt off.

I groaned when I hit, my shirt snapped free of the gash and I felt warm liquid spill across my skin. Damn it! I hauled myself into the room and looked around, making certain there was no more surprises. On my right the reel clinked, buzzing in my skull, a table beside it held stacks of films. The only other occupant was the lone corpse I had seen through the window, slumped and decomposing in its chair. The projector in front of it was cold and neglected. The key sat on the corner of the table beside the corpse. I snatched it up and fit it into my pocket.

Despite how the drone of the projector splint my thoughts, I needed to check what was up with my back. Try and stop the blood flow if I could. I sat by one of the balcony doors and pulled my shirt out enough to keep the fiber from getting caught on my index finger. Even if I wasn't beat to hell, I wouldn't be able to twist around and see the damage. I could only feel where the blood had clotted and dried in several layers on my skin, and the slick texture of the wound. The blood flow had stifled somewhat now that I was still, but whenever I took a breath, fresh blood seeped forth.

Not enough to kill me, not enough to slow me down. But it did concern me.

I removed my coat and set it aside. I tried not to look on its stained surface, as I tore the fabric of my shirt at the shoulder. It was mostly clean, I avoided the edges where the sewer water had seeped in and discolored the fabric. Christ, I was insane. I folded up the piece of cloth and studied it a moment, steeling myself for what I was about to do. I'm insane, the doctors are going to take one look at me and say, "My god, this man is insane." Shit… this is not going to work.

Tears stung my eyes as I forced the fabric into the gash. Burns, it burns like a bitch! Why am I doing this?! What is wrong with me?! I forced the material in as far as I could, and felt my throat clench as I gagged. Don't lose it now, keep it together. I leaned against the door as the nausea passed, my head spinning. What did I just do to myself? I touched the gash with a shaky hand and found it was already soaked, but blood was no longer spilling freely.

Shots of antibiotics. No doubt I would need them if I was going to survive, but I had to get out first. I made sure the cloth wouldn't come undone when I started moving, and made a shabby effort of tucking my shirttail in. I don't know why, routine I guess. My feet felt steadier than I expected, it must've been the adrenaline. Where did I need to go?

I pulled on my coat but couldn't feel relief in the return of its weight, or the sense of security it brought, having the extra layer to protect me from the stagnant air. I felt the weight in my pocket and recalled the key I had picked up. Needed to get back to the gate where the disciple had set me off on this little side quest. I decided most of this was redundant, but as much as I'd like, I couldn't argue with a locked gate.

The door that had been slammed in my face was jammed. I didn't need to go that way though, just needed to get to the floor and find my way back. I climbed over the rail of the balcony and lowered myself down, without straining my patched side.

A loud crunch came from the door, the light gleaming through the edge flashed as another powerful slam rocked it from the other side. I dropped down, a bit jarred by the short landing but able to get moving to the front of the theater where I had entered. I brought up the camera in time to swerve around the table of the dead, the beam that lit up the screen didn't reach the floor where the EXIT door awaited. I was aware I was fully exposed in the light and needed to move it. I stashed the camera as the door cracked, it was holding longer than I expected.

I jumped trying to climb back into the space I'd come down through, but the plywood I snagged flipped free and slide down effectively barring any handholds I could take. I was already trying to get up to pull it down, when the door gave a final cry and shattered.

I ducked down and slipped under the light, towards a set of tables stuffed beside the barred door. At first, I heard nothing, just the constant call of the projector as it ran till the end of days. I tried to sift under it, listen for what it concealed, what was the danger searching for me? The floor creaked, couldn't decide if it was a board shifting under me, or of the ominous danger that now filled the room. Soft foot falls slipped under the shadows as they carried weight, but that was all I could make out. Don't move, let the air settle.

Not Chris. Was it the twins? I blinked the sweat from my eyes and chanced to peer up and zoom, searching through the haze of light that interfered with the NV. Of what I could perceive, was the glint of eyes as a tall figure stalked at the back of the house and scanned out.

"_His liver and tongue."_

The voice had been so strong I thought I had actually heard it reverberate in the theater, but it had all been in my head. I curled down and pressed myself under the tables. I could see one, where was the other?

Worry about that later. The steps grew louder, overtaking the sound of the projector and the diseased Rorschach's twisting on the screen. I wanted to bury myself deeper under the table, but I was not hidden by shadows, I was in full view in the light and vulnerable. Exposed.

Don't look this way. Please, don't look this way. Subconsciously I curled my arms against my stomach and felt my body quivering; it was incredible the floor beneath me didn't rattle apart. I lowered my head and held as still as I could, despite my unsteady breath. It was painful enough clinging to my sides, but I swore I could feel it. A vibration in my skin. The concept unsettled me, I wanted to uncoil and escape myself, forget, but I was trapped. I was trapped in my mind and skin. No—

The steps paused a few feet away, directly in front of the screen. The floor boards shift as he turns, checking, searching. Does he know I'm here? He's only here because Farther Martin sent me.

I swallow and shift down just an inch, a sharp creek echoes in the room.

But it is overtaken by the sound of steps as the figure turns. Where is he going? I can't bear to look up, I just want to hide down in the wood and not be seen. The pad-pad of steps grows softer as their owner takes them away. Only then do I chance a glimpse up and risk raising my camera to view his direction. His walking to the other end of the theater, opposite of me. If he turns now….oh god.

I shove myself out from where I was curled down, and dive forward, my steps echo like thunder over the tick of the film snapping. The twin jerks around as I cut the corner, knocking a chair down with my knee as I blaze by. I don't glance back as I weave around the tables, my eyes fleck to either side fearful I might have missed the brother, that I'd reacted too soon. I reach the back of the theater and that beautiful exit in five steps.

Thoughts return as I near the bright hall, and beyond. The other twin, what if he's waiting outside? What if they've anticipated this? Not stupid, they were not stupid. Have I just killed myself?

I shoot from the theater and press myself to the wall, staring at the dark portal and the danger that lay within. No sign of either one, I was alone. Alone except for the dead Murkoff agent that lay beside the wall. I brushed by the corpse and tried the door above a short set of steps. It was locked but I was certain this was the door that had been locked when I was searching for the Recreational Hall.

There was another door, up several steps, probably on level with the first floor. I zipped by the theater, unaware if I could outrun the twins. They always tried to corner me, did they believe I was too fast or did they dislike putting the effort into catching me? I didn't want to know, I didn't want to figure it out. They wouldn't catch me, because I would always outsmart them.

I sprint to the top of the steps and haul the gate shut on the theater behind me. There remained no sign of either brother. This did not mean I was no longer being hunted. My escape would not be successful until I located the other twin, without getting killed. The brother was nearby, and there was a whole dark hall ahead of me.

A door on my left offered nothing but a small office, some books and files. I crept inside for a moment only to regroup and steady my thudding heart. Christ, I hated those guys. I wiped some of the dampness from my eyes and realized, I had pretty much given up on my hands. Fuck this place. Really. Fuck it.

I returned to the hall and tried the handle of the glass door on my left. It was locked but I already knew that. Habits. At my right was the segregation gate that I previously deduced to be locked, but was now opened into the room with the elevator where I began this small excursion. It looked much of the same as it did when I first came through, aside from the missing twin standing on the opposite side, waiting for me.

I stepped back, but caught myself before I could back up into his brother. I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me, never lowering my gaze from the bald individual. With the distance it was tricky to tell, but it looked as though the gate I initially entered, was now shut, presumably locked. I made slow progress to the other side, unable to put my faith in the door between us.

He watched me, occasionally slapping the flat side of his machete to his hand in anticipation. He said nothing to me, made no note of how slowly he'd kill me or utter a comment about what his brother had failed to do. I didn't spur a conversation either, but didn't feel relief in the silence. He slapped that large knife against his palm, there was blood there and cuts where the edge had nicked him. It never occurred to me as I moved that my camera was still armed, and in fact I was recording him.

When I reached the gate and the stairs, I kept my focus on him as I fumbled with the key. Nothing in his expression altered to reflect my progress, but he was a sociopath, he wasn't obligated to look disappointed. I wondered if he was unable to speak or express without his brother present, the concept struck a cord in me and I nearly dropped the key. After a minute of struggling, the latch clicked. I slipped behind the gate and slammed the door. I doubt it would help, but I locked it and kept the key with me. I worked hard for it, I could keep it as a souvenir. Wear it on my neck, it'd be a great conversation starter.

I passed the blood marked arrow up the winding steps and came to a dark upper floor. The scorched and ruined upper floor came to mind, where I had nearly fallen. I don't know why I thought of that, but I imagined this floor was on the same level.

Movement drew my attention to the left, I jerked back and watched a someone shut a gate behind them, then step across the corridor to one of the distorted glass doors. It looked like he was heading away from me, to where I couldn't tell. As I stood tense and waiting was I… hearing a choir? No, no, I couldn't, this was insane. I took a deep breath and changed the battery out of my camera.

Only one to go, and that's done. Power was getting low in the camera itself as well. There were plenty of towers that still functioned around this place, I might be able to charge it a bit. The thought of getting stuck in a room with my only light source 'temporarily' out of commission didn't set well with me.

Right beside me sat the open doors of the elevator, yellow brilliance spilling onto the clean carpet. At first I was startled to see it in good order, then recalled the elevator I had trapped Trager in was on the furthest side of the Asylum, the outdated and forgotten section. I entered and tried the buttons, but nothing would function without the key. I didn't keep the one from the last elevator, hadn't thought about it at the time believing I was escaping and the elevator was busted with that sick fuck pinned in it. That was IF they were universal, having the key only to learn they were not, would have made me sleep better at night. I gave up on the elevator, and ventured into the dark floor with my camera at the ready.

The steel door across the room gave a hollow clunk as the lock held. When I turned, I whirled away startled by, of all things, a god damn plant. Fuck. I recovered and glowered on the dried foliage by the wall, my heart hammered painfully against my ribs. I don't think I deserved that. Gently, I tipped it over with my foot and let the soil dump out with the dry roots. Better keep moving, just try not to get startled by plants anymore. Fuck, that was stupid.

A few feet along the wall sat another door of stainless steel. The handle turned easily in my grip, modern and practically brand new. I shut it for the time, and crossed to the adjacent wall, and the segregation gate there. It was locked, but it was good to know for sure. Lamps beyond the gate shone down on the carpet, but I was appreciating my return to the soothing shadows. This floor, where I was right now, felt kind of nice. Even if there was no music, I didn't feel the immediate danger creeping into my person. Just like when I first entered, everything had looked normal from a glance. From a glance….

I slipped through the steel door and shut it behind me, as my usual precaution. I was in another kitchen, with all the modern updates Murkoff incorporated for their staff. It was with a lot of space, between the countertops set up in the rooms center and against the walls with a few abandoned and empty bowls scattered around. Rafters were fixed to hang above these kitchenware islands, adorned with hooks and a pot on nearly each one. Most the free space along the walls was covered with cabinets or freezers, no doubt full of provisions. A few other odd end sort of kitchen utilities were set up, such as the mobile shelves stacked with trays, and counter space with numerous sinks lined up for the kitchen staff.

No bodies, no blood. From all appearances it was a normal kitchen someplace ordinary, such as the moon.

Or almost so. I stood motionless and listened as metal clinked, and searched around for a set of pots that swayed gently on their hooks. A draft. It was a draft, air moving through the vents. Change in pressure. I was shaking, seemed like I was shaking constantly now and that frightened me, about as much as the big fuckers grin.

I went to one of the cabinets and opened it, hunting for something to hold me until I reached the town. After a few minutes of searching I had very little to show for my efforts, and gave up. The survivors must have hit the kitchen for rations, many were left emaciated while Murkoff was in control of their lively hood. It didn't appear that their situation had improved, since then.

I did find a package of individually wrapped honey cakes, there were only two left but that was enough. Just some sugar and carbs to keep me going, and some water from the tap. I did get off the thick layer of blood that had formed on my hands, which resulted in black, watery stains around my sleeves and dark speckles marking up my knuckles. As long as I didn't look like some serial killer.

I felt better with the sugar in my system. I had a want to curb some of the ache in my head by eating something, but it was too soon to tell if low blood-sugar was the culprit. If anything, it felt like the noise was getting worse. My thoughts crawled through my brain, I sometimes didn't see the shapes, then there would be static but I wasn't staring through the visor.

One door to a pair was left ajar, I pressed it open entering into another cafeteria. Long tables set in rows, chairs stacked or tossed into piles across the floor. On the other side of the room was a human shape, silhouetted against the pale light of the windows. I shut the door gently, and worked my way around the room, eyes locked on the person.

A door on the right side of the room was locked. I debated a moment, wondering where exactly I was meant to go. Clearly I was still on this 'mission' Father Martin had set me on, I had achieved the key from behind the light… Where did the disciple say I was headed? The house of God. The house of God would be a church. Well, I knew where I would end up, but how did I get there?

I walked to check the other side for a door, but moved closer than safe to the man, and paused to stare out the window. He was just gazing through the fogged glass, into the dead of night, as the rain streaked and trickled down in long, fading lines. His head was bowed and his hands clasped together, but I could make out the mutilation to his lips and face.

We stood in silence for a moment, still as the night waiting for something. A brilliant ark split the sky, filling the room with a white haze. I'm certain he knew I was there but he refused to acknowledge me. I don't know if there was an unspoken settlement shared between us, or if the man felt the same as I did. Whatever it was, it was there and there was nothing to say about it. Without word or gesture I resumed my path, finding a door left ajar on the other side of the room. I shut it after me, and met another door barricaded in the usual hasty fashion.

A dead end and side table sat at the right, I turned left and moved forward to check around a corner on my right. It was short hall with the lone door blocked with plywood, I paused as the image in the visor sputtered, then moved on. I was nearly shocked by the lack of gore and mayhem, though the rancid musk of dried out skin clung to the air, it wasn't the overpowering rot of fetid intestines. I wanted to revel in the radical change, but it was an illusion. A—

I ducked my head out of the gleam of the visor and blinked my eyes, working out the harsh impression. Spots dotted the edges of my vision. Keep moving. Just keep moving. The hall was completely empty, save for me. I pressed my fingers against the base of my neck and let the pain subside as I shuffled forward.

The lamp at the halls end expressed enough light I could take off the nightvision, for a short time. A door opened on my right, entering into the room that was most likely boarded up from the short hall I passed. I checked around the corner, believing the humming I felt might be interfering with my hearing. Sometimes I sensed the noise, but other times, like now in the near silence of the room, I thought the sound was somehow imagined by me. I tried to pop my ears by adjusting my jaw, or yawning, but it didn't help. Like when I first came into the mountain region, that pressure build up. But now, it was hornets in my head.

When did I start thinking hornets?

The room appeared to be another recreational room, or lounge. There was a pool table across from the door, with a game set up and Q-balls scattered. A few stools were scattered around, beside a thin counter for refreshments. I stepped further into the room, through its center chairs had been lined up before a screen, beside one of the large decorative support columns. Along the wall on my right, chairs had been placed before computer terminals left to display login screens of blue, a few remained black and inactive. A station I could use to charge my camera, if I was so inclined. It wasn't the highest priority on my list, to be honest. That might've been another mistake on my part.

I turned to the monotone scratch of static playing on the large screen, that the chairs were set to face. I was startled by the man knelt, speaking calmly to his deity. It took a moment for my panic to fade, as I reassured myself he was fully absorbed in his prayer. The camera was leveled beside my chest, but I adjusted its position to film properly.

"_The static again. A patient knelt in prayer. Maybe he bought Father Martin's line of bullshit. Maybe he hears what I hear but more clearly. Maybe it's his way out of this place. The Priest called it the Gospel of Sand._"

For a while I stood near him, watching the screen in somewhat of a trance. I didn't realize I had lowered the camera until my index finger brushed the crisp material of my jeans. I glanced at them briefly, before I returned my focus to the screen, and the image that was there but… it couldn't be. No. But, if I squinted and turned my head sideways, working to understand what it was. In the static, I WAS seeing something. A form, a shape, a face. Staring back at me. And the patient saw it too.

_I blink and I see Rorschach tests that look like swarming insects and infected surgery wounds_.

The hair on my neck stood on end and that subtle stabbing in my temple resumed at force. Staring at static would make you go blind. But I couldn't help it. I backed away, bumping the side of a chair with my leg before I had ripped my gaze away.

What I had seen in the lounge was no coincidence, no delusion. But what was I seeing? What had I witnessed? It was a hallucination from the stress, amplified by the pulse of static. In the shadows, I was seeing shapes every time I blinked, why not in the dead channel. It was getting worse, the vertigo. If I tried to recall the shapes, the pain intensified like a hot poker twisting through the base of my skull. Until my vision doubled and the floor tilted.

I made it to the doorframe before I collapsed. My head was aching so bad I was nauseated, but I was done throwing up. That buzzing, in the air and everywhere, I couldn't escape it, not until there was distance. Not until I had run away. But I couldn't even stand, when I raised my head a new wave of pain surged through my skull.

I switched the camera off and just lay by the door listening to the sound in the walls, the prayers of the forgotten people as they begged for the salvation they had been promised. This would pass, it always did. If I gave my body the time to catch up, I would be good to go. I took steady breaths and just rested for a short spell, I shut my eyes trying to understand what it was they were asking. What was it we had in common?

To escape the nightmare once and for all.

* * *

><p><strong>Kudos to Markiplier for seeing the face in the TV during 'Static Prayer.' That was totally trippy. <strong>

**Auther Note: DLC is supposed to have the conclusion to Outlast in it, and I have some theories what will happen but I'll not post them. Miles continues to believe his contact is dead, and I think he's on to something. Though I am braced for a cruel twist**

**As always thank you to readers, reviewers, and lurkers. Lemme know if there's anything that could be changed, I'm always open to corrections and alterations. Spoiler - This is a story for the fans of Outlast, y'know**


	20. Chapter 20

Shepherd's Apostle

The world faded into a thick haze, like a memory I wanted to recall but the further I reached for it the harder it was to grasp. The hard carpet dug into my cheek, it was soothing to lie down like this and just put everything out of thought, out of mind. It was impossible to describe how tired I was. But I had to press on.

I couldn't open my eyes. Everything had turned dark in an instant and I was alone, in silence. But for a dull throbbing. My heart, I decided. I felt my steady breath, about the most of my movement that I could manage. Okay, just for a while I'll lay here, then I'll be ready. I couldn't recall where I was headed initially, but I was standing on the ground floor watching the lobby.

There was a charge in the air. Palpable thickness as if something was happening or was to happen, I was on edge. People were presently on their rounds, dressed in clean uniforms, formal. They looked like normal people.

I managed to crack an eye open and gaze blearily into the musty carpet. The House of God. That's what I was looking for. The dull tingle worked its way through my marrow, it unnerved me. I closed my eye and returned to the fresh ground floor, just as people were running. I felt liquid trail across the bridge of my nose and soak into the carpet under my face. Blood soaked the floors, the desks. Organs twisted, bodies crumpled, skeletons splint from skin. The red droplets glistened oddly under the bright lamps.

One of Murkoff's security held a small Beretta between his hands, he turned the gun wildly on the walls and floor. The glass of the upper hall cracked but held against the bullets. I'm sure there should be a deafening clamor, but I can only make out muffled voices, sounds you'd pick up on underwater. He turns his weapon on a colleague as the individual is shredded from the inside out, muscle and lung drench the carpet below his skin. The panicked man shoots the mist as it evaporates.

I open my eyes and stare at the carpet. I want to get up, but the pain in my skull refuses to relinquish its hold. If I lay here in this doorway for too long I will be discovered, and without a doubt, killed.

When I shut my eyes, I'm in a white room with the mangled pieces of a body beneath me, wet blood spilling down the drain of a shower. The water left running swirls the black and reds into anemic pinks.

My eyes snap open and I lay for the longest time gazing at the doorframe across from me, my heart beating fast. What the fuck did that come from? Reports, files I had read too deep into. Too deep. Therapy was going to seem like a vacation.

I waited for the throbbing to subside to a tolerable degree, until I felt stable enough to get up on my feet. I couldn't afford to lose anymore time. The sewers, filthy and diseased, the shears Trager used to tear off my fingers. I had contracted something and it would kill me, unless I got out. I needed X-rays, antibiotics, I needed some real sleep!

Documents flashed through my mind — MKULTRA, the Hypnotic therapy, the Walrider legend, autopsies revealing tumors of lead. I was feeling sick all over again, but I had to push on. Take steps. I was so close, I could feel it!

There was still no way through the blockade of furniture crammed throughout the hall. My hand ached as I recalled the chair that had fallen on it, I learned my lesson. It was rare when that happened, but sometimes I did. I was defeated and I admitted it, I wasn't sure what I was admitting to, but I was done with this bullshit. I eyed the fracture in the wall on my right, metal sheeting had been torn out of the plaster and left on the floor. Looked like a path the patients used, due to the blockade. I squeezed through, first spying the patient, or disciple I should say, bent over a grungy bed and praying. His head low and hands clasped tightly in silent confession, I couldn't make out what he was mumbling about. His lips might've been damaged or he had lost his teeth… or his tongue.

A shiver trailed up my spine, and I held my face as the wave of pain it brought subsided. How long could I go on like this?

_Till I die._

I wouldn't die. I refused to. The tangible quality of my old proclamation and what it meant, hit me with such a force that it sent me stumbling back into an empty bookcase. I froze, fearing the commotion would set the man off. He made no note of my presence. I recovered, consciousness whirling. The camera was between my palms, trained on him. The room was simple, only the bed and a nightstand, chair, desk on one side, on the other, a lamp cracked on the floor. What more did he need?

These rooms had originally been the residences of the staff before everything turned bad. Small but cozy, employees provided with everything they would ever need, by the 'non-profit' Murkoff cooperation. Now with the former occupants slaughtered and marinating the halls, the formerly suppressed rise up to take control. How poetic. I realize that not all of those affiliated with Murkoff deserved what happened, there had been good souls concerned for the cooperation's victims. They simply didn't want to see what was happening around them. People were like that. It was human.

The disciples legs were scarred, as were his arms, I imagine that was the least of the damage done. I crept from the room, shutting the door softly behind me. I still was wary of them and what intentions they could have. Trust no one.

It looked as though I went ALL the way around, from where I initially came up the stairs, just to get to this side of the hall. I scoffed, but nothing to do about it. Just keep my steady pace and try not to falter. I at least had a small break, though I couldn't recall what I had eaten ten minutes prior. I remained famish and the humming grew worse, as though there really was a choir in this hall behind one of the doors. I stood beneath the bright lamp and swayed. If I kept my heart pumping, I would be fine.

The hall reserved its featureless standard, the walls extending through the shadows that both welcomed and rejected me. To my left was another lavatory, I poked in and went through the stalls, startling flies from their nest. As I ventured from the glaring lamps, the little buggers gave up their pursuit, further reinforcement that the light remained my greater foe.

One door on my left had a starved and shirtless patient, in prayer as I'd seen the two before. The room was simple as I'd come to expected, bed, a desk, sometimes chairs. The room down from his was much the same, aside from rain and thunder pouring through a shattered window. I gave each room I came upon brief audience, filming the people, before I moved on to the next.

I was shocked by the number of people absorbed in this process. Was it a mass Hallucination driven by MKULTRA? I couldn't tell anymore. It was clear they had faith in Father Martin and his preaching's, but why? Questions buzzed through my thoughts as I tried to piece what I did understand together, but felt I was missing some vital component to the machine. That eerie trill. The sound I heard, a choir or was it a hymn? It didn't matter, maybe they were hearing it. I was tempted to ask what it was, but I feared one might answer. I feared someone would notice me at last, and I would be trapped, lost and confused as they brought about my bloody conclusion.

Aside from the room full of cold rain and thunder, I could see no way out of here. Let alone, I didn't know what I was doing here aside from 'witnessing' the disciples of Father Martin lost to prayer. I revisited the rooms, in perpetual fear that the trance would break. But I had nothing to lose as far as I could see. One room I stumbled into with its withered disciple, holding his head high as he spoke, had a folder placed on the desk beside the door. It was filled with pages, most held a handwriting style I was familiar with.

"_I am an unworthy supplicant, who can serve our lord only by feeding our lord. Please take me, Walrider. Let my shepherd's Apostle see it and spread it with his lies for a greater truth. Your time upon the world has come. My flesh longs for your beautiful wraith. My blood is filled with you and waiting to be set free. This is my prayer. Write your gospel in my flesh._"

For some reason this absolution unsettled me. What was it he planned to do? I feared the truth behind these walls.

With no other path available, I decided to risk the harsh rain in the window. The patient remained absorbed in his words, and as expected did not notice me as I climbed onto the soaked bed and stepped out onto the windowsill. A flash of light cuts the sky, I shut my eyes from the sting and saw images I didn't want to see. Everything I wanted to forget. I placed my hand on the jagged glass and stared down, my footing uneasy.

Three stories up. If I fell from this height I might not die all at once, but I'll pray for death. The lightening flashed, brightening the courtyard and thunder clashed against the stone building. I forced my feet to move and hold my weight as I slipped along the icy wall of the Asylum. Shapes flashed at the edges of the broken garden, I risked tucking my camera away as a precaution. Light stretched from the windows at my backside, but there was not enough radiance to brave the merciless storm. My heel slipped and I stared down, water trickled over my face and damaged hands. The sky sparked and shrieked, and below, I thought the skeletal shape of a person was there staring up, waiting for my body to fall and hit the pavement, starved to behold my guts torn loose to wash like crème down the drain. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting away my dreams. I focused on the ledge, on the dark coloration of my coat. Water splattered my pants and shoulders, but the eaves kept the torrent from soaking me to the bone.

I trembled with something beyond cold and fear when I climbed into the next window. A lightly decorated room with one bookshelf, a portrait on the wall, and a bed with another of Father Martin's disciples speaking to the Walrider. I didn't want to think of the blessings mad men asked for. Maybe just the simple relief from living and life, maybe to think as other men do? Or maybe for the world to be as they are.

The door of the room was open wide, encouraging me along. I kept caution close as I checked around the frame.

God hates sickness

Was scrawled in blood on the wall in large letters. Candles lit below flicker calmly, despite the draft on my backside. The wall flashed with light as another scream of fury came from the storm.

My left was blocked by stacks of metal shelving and chairs, I wiped the water from my hands as I struggled to fix my grip on the camera. The only relief I could find was that my right hand didn't seem to be swelling anymore, but the index finger and middle finger were stiff and painful to test. I considered myself fortunate, despite it all.

More messages and candles awaited on my right, competing with the artificial light of the corridor that refused to diminish. A cross was drawn on the wall, the blood peeling down appeared fresh. A plate on the wall read simply Chapel. That would be a House of God. The corner bent left and I leaned over to find, yet more candles beside the wall and the message above

God hates money

I spun back at the door slamming shut, and the firm click of the lock splint my head. Curious, I returned to try the handle and found that indeed, I was locked on this side. Away from the ground floor and the elevator. I sighed. My luck. It was a good thing I was never one to buy into stocks.

Voices drifted from the hall, and that sharp pain returned to the back of my head causing my vision to blur. I massaged my brow with my palm and continued, turning the corner and resumed the path now cut cleanly for me. The soft candle flames became an almost welcome change, compared to the harsh blaze of the NV. It made the walls and floors look soft and bearable, in spite of everything I knew that was buried in these grounds. I pause and looked to my left, upon familiar scratching in the plaster. I recognized the form and some of the words "Rest in peace" "He did not kill" Father Martin's preaching? The camera scolded my hesitance, but I waited it out to gain a clear image. I was nearly beyond my limit, but I could hold out. I was good at holding out.

God Annoys…

I blinked.

God always provides a way

I looked from the wet message and the cross, to the scarred patient standing before me, blocking my path. Head bowed and a candle clasped between his hands, he was emaciated to the point I couldn't believe he was standing. And the smell. This… was the first fucker to lunge at me from a wheelchair!

"Am I ready?"

I stepped away from him and looked over my shoulder, to where the voices echoed from in somber reverence. A chapel, candles lit and burning above a pristine tile floor, an entrance chamber that led directly into the cathedral. It didn't appear very large, with carved beams arched under a plain white ceiling, tinged yellow from age. It was a simple structure, but ornate and charming in its own way. I closed one eye and pressed my hand to it, the sound I couldn't escape. I had to keep my senses keen. Beside either stained glass door that opened into the main wing, stood a twin, glowering on me as I gave one a look, then the other. I straightened myself out to the best of my ability, I couldn't appear defective to them.

"You are. We will join the Walrider in just a moment." That was Father Martin. I was staring from where I stood, and I think he was nailed to a cross.

Holy crap, what was I doing here? I debated on just leaping from that window now and accept the fate meeting me beneath the rain, then I recalled the door was locked and I was trapped here with these people. Whatever was to come, I would fight until my heart was ripped from my chest. Which, given circumstances, could be very likely.

I took a deep breath and proceeded into the chapel, directly between the twins as they tracked my slow movement with their hostile stare. They reserved their right to freely expose themselves, though I kept my gaze forward and my camera close to my side. My hardcore reporter instincts told me soon I would need it. The doors gave a firm _CLUNK_ of finality as I approached the podium, and the disciples of Father Martin. They were disturbed but not aggressive, they, like those I had passed to reach this wing, were wholly oblivious to my presence, or had been requested not to acknowledge it. Their attention was set on the man nailed to the wooden cross; I don't doubt they were upset by this revelation. They spoke and murmured, plead and mourned. It was all together and all at once, I couldn't make out a handful of what they were saying.

The crucified man gave a sharp gasp at my approach, the act so sudden I recoiled. "My job. You alone shall escape to tell them." Father Martin paused to gather his breath, he must have been in a good deal of pain. "This is your penultimate act of witness. The promise of the prophets was always the freedom from death," he groaned. "And here it is." He pulled at his arms, as though trying to relieve the pain, despite there being no escape. My only response was to blink.

The patients clustered about him, and the collection of timber at his toes. They pray and spoke in soft sentences, some bowed and sobbed. For the Walrider? Or for Father Martin's Gospel? The accumulated resonance caused the hair to bristle on my neck.

I moved to the side into the pews and sat down, making sure the camera was fixed on Martin. The frail patient from the hall stepped around the podium, to stand near his Prophet and gazed at him with sunken eyes. Martin whimpered, and resumed speaking, "You will watch and record my death, my resurrection. And together we will be free."

Martin let his head drop onto his shoulder and took another tight breath. "You are no longer in any danger. I've fixed the elevator. It will take you to freedom. We will all of us be free." I had to set my head down on my arm. That sound…..

"Now, my son."

I jerked my head up when Martin's tormented shrieks echoed off the high ceiling and walls. The patient that was holding the candle lit the timber beneath his feet and the Priest was on fire, twisting and howling in pain as his robs burnt like dry cotton and his flesh scorched and popped. I gawked wide eyed trying to hold my camera steady, trying to keep myself from tearing out of that seat and racing away. My stomach knotted at the harsh sting of burning flesh, reminding me sharply of the scorched bodies burning in the cafeteria. I clasped my free hand over mouth, it was all I could do to keep from buckling forward. Not here, not at a time like this.

His raving sobs finally died out as he succumb to smoke inhalation, or the heat cooked his brain inside his skull. He gave an oily groan before he went limp and the flames settled into his bubbling flesh.

When I shifted to reach for my notepad, I realized with a start I had bitten into my palm. Not deep, but the edge of my teeth had cut into my stained flesh and blood seeped from the shallow tears. I wasn't sure what to make of that, or the fact I hadn't noticed before I moved.

"_I can't believe Father Martin one-upped Jesus Christ himself in shitty ways to die. And I don't believe I'm going to miss him. A way out. If he's telling the truth, now I've got a way out. And a story to tell. He wants me to spread his gospel. I'll tell the whole fucking world._"

I sat a moment watching the patients mourn for their Prophet, and weep for his sacrifice. I didn't know what they would do now without their Guide in this twisted world, but I didn't want to hang around and find out. I gathered myself up and slid out of the pew. I took up the key gleaming gaily on the red velvet podium.

The twins stood still behind the stained glass doors. From a safe distance I stopped and observed them. Would they end it now, with Father Martin gone? Was this the time they would conclude the chase? I checked the room over, finding no other windows or doors, aside from the ones they stood behind. If I could lure them back into this room, I could get around both of them. If they cornered me, that was it.

I walked forward trying not to look at them, I needed to get by and find my way out before I was stabbed in the back.

They pulled the double doors open simultaneously to my approach, and I dithered before continuing forward. I doubt they needed weapons to kill me.

The bald one on the right clutched his head, angry or plagued by the sounds. I stepped between them quickly and got halfway down the hall before I remembered the door was locked. Or was it? I passed the final messages of Father Martin only to find the door was still locked tight. I returned to the chapel, looking to the twins for some sort of guidance but quickly gave that up when I spied the area, beyond where the wheelchair patient had been poised. A bookshelf, among other furniture pinned in the archway of the hall, encyclopedias and other tomes spilt from the shelves, clearing enough space I could wriggle through. But above was a vent in the ceiling, its panel off. I could reach it, and they couldn't follow.

I stuck the camera in its hoister and grabbed the edge and kicked at the wall until I was safe inside and felt around for my path. The piece of fabric shifted oddly in my gash, I poked around the backside of my shirt and felt only mild dampness but no excessive bleeding. I squeezed my eyes tightly and crawled along the weak metal. I was getting out. Damn Priest guy said I could go, I would not stick around.

But damn, I couldn't believe Martin was gone. In no way did I feel safer with his suicide, on contrary, it didn't feel like anything had changed. What had he been trying to prove? The only fact I could take comfort in, was that I wasn't the one nailed to that cross. Didn't mean I was no longer in danger, notwithstanding what he proclaimed. I've heard that song and dance before. Probably why it felt like his death was so unreal, in truth nothing had changed. The whole event had meant nothing to me.

The notion left a sort of emptiness inside me. I don't know how to describe it.

The next flue I had to force with my weight, as result I nearly fell through to the floor below. I managed to clamp my arms over the metal sides, before the rest of me tumbled out in a painful heap. I dropped and stumbled to my ass, god damnit. I sat letting my body settle and gave where I was a scan. The shelves and furniture I bypassed should keep Martin's disciples from catching up to me anytime soon. For the moment, it was safe to bide time and plan my direction. I needed to find that lift and get the fuck out of here. It was in the other wing of the Asylum, outside the kitchen. I could reach it through this side, down this hall?

I stepped into a patch of light from the lamps gleaming in the hall on the right, and sat down to think. If I was to reach the elevator, I needed to go through the kitchen, but I couldn't, that door was locked. I needed another way around… I could really use a map.

If my sense of direction was right— I looked up as a dark shape began from the opposite end of hall. I couldn't make out who it was. A twin? How did he find me? But as I gawked, the figure picked up speed, upon spying me huddled in the sloping light. I knew who that was.

I lunged to my feet taking the bright hall on my right, as he gave a thunderous snarl. I could feel his steps quake through the floorboards of the Asylum. His chains churning with his pace, gaining three steps with every one of mine. Needed a place to hide, needed distance! The hall was perpetual, same as those never ending roads in your dreams that extended into eternity. I glanced at the dried blood splattered at my left, staining the upper wall and floor, the hard copper hit me as I gasped. Above, the lamps flashed against my skull, doors lined the walls every few steps, many nailed with plywood and planks. He snarled and huffed gaining, his ire snapping at my neck. I couldn't bring myself to pause and try doors, I wanted to run forever.

When would the big fucker just let up! It was obvious he wasn't one of Martin's followers. All along, had he been against the Gospel of Sand? I couldn't know! That was not important! He would kill me regardless my affiliation with the Church of Walrider!

The hall came to an abrupt end, reluctantly I tried a plain door on my left expecting it to be locked. Trapped at long last, after I had succeeded at beating their game. I barely turned the knob before I shoved the door in, grunting against the sudden lurch in my rib. I swung the thin barrier shut after me and checked through the nightvision, but saw no worthwhile space to hide. The room was well lit, particularly on the left side where a flat screen sat on a table. I could crouch behind the two love seats set to view the screen, but three steps in and Chris would have me.

The door cracked in the frame, I was amazed it held when the raw rage slammed into it. I dashed across the room as the floor and walls shook, my head spinning, bits of light flittered through the cracks in the door as it absorbed another blow. I curled up in the darkest corner behind a thick armchair and stared through the NV as the visor buzzed. A final shattering blow and Chris plowed through, tumbling to the floor before climbing to his feet. I shrank down behind the couch and watched as he scanned the room over, huffing through his teeth he began pacing to the left. It was my right, the way I was facing him—

"On point."

While his back was turned, I crawled towards the gaping portal. One long step, I set my foot outside the doorframe and slipped out. I could hear the noise of the big fucker chains as he turned, to check the side of the room I had hidden. He'll make the conclusion, I needed to buckle down and think. Where was it I needed to go? What doors were open? I had to rattle handles.

The next door I tried was on my right, it opened into a small office with a desk, and the usual dead plant mandatory to Murkoff's memory. I entered and listened as the big fucker reentered the hall, grumbling about the pain of living. I shut the door gently and sat in the dark struggling to gauge his position, as his steps grew louder and heavier. I flipped the NV off as he continued past my door, and down the hall a ways before his steps halt. I could hear my breathing, but Chris was as silent as death.

I jerked back when the thuds of wood cracking vibrated through the hall. I braved pulling the door open a crack and let some light in, he was not far, just across the hall. With a final swing of his fists the pitiful door snapped apart, he kicked the pieces aside as he stepped into the small room. His backside quivers as he pants, blood leaks from deep cuts that never healed in his broken skin.

As before while he's distracted, I took the chance and slipped out of the room. He was going to hear me, he would detect my movement, smell me, something. He would turn around and grab me, and that would be it. I'll be pulled apart, my body torn out from under my head like so many of his victims. My last moments, watching him toss my flailing torso aside.

But Chris was still examining the dark cubicle of office before him, and I made it past the doorway without a creak from the floor. Overhead, before the intersecting hall hung the large, bold red words EXIT. This was the way. I was nearly there!

Getting away from the patients and their mass congregation had helped to high levels. My head still throbbed but it wasn't the twisting pain it had been an hour before. I wouldn't be too run down once I returned to civilization, I might be able to get medical attention before I had to start answering questions.

All right man, focus. Pat yourself on the back later, first things first. Find the way out. I was still so fucking lost, it was a crime.

I ducked into a doorway on my left when I picked up on Chris' chains slithering into the hall. Once I was on the elevator, I was home free. Warm heater, familiar surroundings, just all around good things. Keep thinking good, clean, healthy thoughts Miles. Keep positive.

A lavatory, very little to hide in. Most the stalls were shut, blood on the tile and flies lapped at the sticky mess. Their wings hummed impossibly loud against the hard walls as I disturbed their perch, I was terrified the sound would give me away. I ducked into the stall on the far end and climbed onto the toilet. The lamps blazed down warming the edges of my coat and neck, I didn't need the camera. Neither would the big fucker if he decided to roam through.

Chains dragged across the tile clinking with each step. Images of the sewer and bloated bodies became my vision, pellets scuttling through pipes. Shadows and shapes, faces in static. I pressed my nose into my bloodied shoulder and tried not to breath. _Stay calm. Stay. Calm._

"Where?…fuck." He sounded dubious.

If he would just leave. You're seeing things like the rest of us. Go look somewhere else, this place is empty.

I cringed when the first stall swung open. Damn. The next door creaked open, and I situated myself to crouch on the bloody toilet. One.

Two.

Three—

Chris pulled the door open, seeming genuinely surprised to find me there. He made a strangled snarl through his mutilated sinuses and lashed out, as I sprang at the top stall and propelled myself over the side to the far end of the bathroom. I hit the floor and tumbled, searing white pulsed through my eyes and my concern went immediately to the camera even as I shoved my feet under me and charged out the door.

"Can't let contamination reach local town…" I ducked down as I passed the doorway, barely missing his arm as he tried to swat me. His wrist struck the tile near my head, dust and brick cracked under the impact.

I stumbled out the door, hands clasped over my head fearful he'd knock it off next. The broken segregation frame swept around me as I breezed through, first turning to the vent I initially dropped down before reminding myself of how bad an idea that was. I pivoted and dashed into the dark hall. The big fucker emerged from the lavatory, and snarled my way as we made eye contact. I brought up the NV as I felt myself tilt, I could see light at the halls end but I was having difficulty keeping my balance. The big fucker was somewhere behind me keeping pace.

End of the hall. End of the hall. Door. A door that leads to the cafeteria. I had no idea where I would wind up. I needed another lounge, a room with space I could maneuver or hide from Chris. It could have just been me, but it felt like he was desperate to kill me at this point. The idea caused my throat to dry out, I gagged as I panted. But I felt elevated, that perhaps Father Martin had been earnest and that I was now done with this place. That I was to be free once I stepped out of those doors.

Had to reach them first.

When I hit the light, I took a sharp left through the last doorway entering into a room full of tables and chairs stacked everywhere, some scattered over the floor. The cafeteria! But I was still skidding in the direction towards the windows, my momentum out of control. The patient that had been here staring out the muggy glass was now absent, or dead. The rain that once furiously struck the glass had diminished to some degree, the luminous beads of water now less and thin.

The door. There was a door on the left side of the room, across from where I just blazed through. Something strained in my knee as I twisted, and spun about as the big fucker came charging into the room after me. Door! Had to get to the door! I zipped around tables or chairs, struggling to maneuver anything between us, to slow him down. The big fucker bellowed, and ripped the obstacles away like weeds in the garden, I heard several crash into the darkest reaches, echoing under the high ceiling. I was only thankful he hadn't the presence of mind to throw one my way.

I had plenty of distance on him by the time I reached the door. I twisted the handle—

Locked! Door was locked! How was I supposed to reach the elevator?!

That was to be the least of my concerns. I cued in on the heavy breath of my pursuer as he sliced through the room, and felt his dead eyes on the back of my head. I barely whipped aside when he swung out, grazing my back, I lost consciousness for an instant as my brain sputtered out. The chains stunned my shoulder and I tumbled to my side, my vision blurred as sensation swung back into me at full force. All I could make of Chris was his shape looming over me snarling, his eyes blazing. I swore, they burned like fire in the dark.

"Get up!"

Fuck you! I crawled pitifully on my hands and knees across his boots to curl up under the nearest table. The big fucker took it in his hands and tipped it over, sending chairs crashing across the floor. I bit the camera strap between my teeth and ripped it off my hand, and scrambled away as fast as I could while he hurried around to intercept me. If I kept the windows in sight I could see where the table legs barred my way.

He couldn't see where I was exactly, he could only hear my panicked breath as I shuffled in the cramped dark. In response, the fucker gripped another table and hefted it up then slammed it down over my body. But the locks where the legs fit in didn't snap away completely, I lay there for a moment believing I had died and the big fucker might've thought the same. He was panting hard, hissing through his exposed teeth as he wandered around the set of tables hunting for my broken body.

My mind was wracked with questions, my ears buzzed and my bones tingled with that tremendous calamity. Out? Where was out?

I reached a trembling hand up slowly and took the camera strap from my teeth, I was nearly pinned on my stomach with just enough room to squeeze out. But the fucker would hear it in the dead silence that consumed the room. I coughed and tasted copper, I don't think a lung was punctured, at least I couldn't feel it yet. I turned my head scanning the room where the door was locked. Damn inconsistencies. A light shone from a square slot in the wall above, where a vent had snapped off. There. That was it! He can't follow me.

The big fucker moved to the other side of the table, ones he hadn't tipped or slammed down, and began pulling them out and scoping the floor. I slipped free of the broken table and pulled my body out from under the line of table legs. The big fucker must've seen my shape when I stood, he barked out a cry as I dashed to the fallen vending machine and clambered up. I was a little tipsy when I stood on the slick plastic cover, but managed to snag the flues edge and haul up into the tight space. A cold pain dug into my side, but I pushed the sensation away as I paused to gather myself. I was in one piece, mostly.

Below, Chris snarled his contempt for my success, but I knew deep in me, this would be our last encounter. I spared him a brief glower, the closets to pity I could express for him, before I turned and crawled along the top of the vents rigged from the ceiling. The muffled growls faded in my ears, as the familiar tingle resumed residence. It wouldn't last, I assured myself.

I never thought I'd be so happy to be in a kitchen before. A revisited and empty kitchen, but it was tame territory. I carefully climbed off a cabinet and hit the floor, wincing at the pain in my ribs. It was okay, nothing a little rest and no movement wouldn't help. That's all the doctors ever said, there wasn't much else that could be done. I took some slow, easy breaths to acquaint myself with the pain. I'd feel even better when I was in my jeep with the heat cranked up, and this place far-far behind me.

I found the door at the other end of the kitchen and half expected the damn thing to be locked, though it was clearly open and the dark hall visible from where I stood. Across, at only a few steps, the lift waited, with nothing in sight, no psychotic patients, just the wavering shades that haunted my memories. I kept shuffling the worst case scenarios to the forefront of my mind, geared for the despair that I was now accustomed to. What could possibly go wrong now? Nothing. Unless the computers had a massive crash in the hours I'd spent lost in this hell of an Asylum, my challenge now would be hacking the security systems.

I groaned when I realized, I'd never opened the main doors. I hadn't even begun, damn Martin had to drag me off…. It was all behind me now. Get to the Security room, hack the system, and say sayonara to this fuck awful place.

I dithered before entering the welcoming gleam of the lift. I had bad experiences with elevators. Bad memories. Once I was inside, I'd be trapped. But I was only riding to the ground floor. Before I could have another thought on the matter I stepped inside, and turned to the panel. I set the key in the lock and gave the panel a firm punch and let the metal gate shield me in.

No insane doctors to interrupt me this time. No burning cafeterias, no deformed giants with fuck started faces, shrieking specters, or cannibalistic twins. I was out. Done. Gone. Bye bye Insane Asylum!

The elevator made the short but noisy descent to the ground floor and stopped. I put the camera in its hoister and tried to pull aside the gate. It should open, shouldn't it? Of course it would. I peered through the large gaps and saw, indeed those doors were locked. I was hyped and ready to start this, it wouldn't be easy, but I would get it done. Sooner I started the better.

The gate should open now. I poked at the panel and tried turning the key, maybe it unlocked it? Or maybe I shouldn't have done that. The lift shifted and began descending all over again. I looked up alarmed as the exit, my doors to freedom vanished from sight.

No. No-No-No-NO! What was this? The elevator was fixed, I was supposed to get out, up there! That was my floor! Stop! I tried to pull the key from the slot, but it was stuck tight. Safety precautions and such, I was locked in! Where the fuck was I going?! Darkness filled the tiny space I occupied. The basement! I could find my way out of the basement easy. I vaguely remembered the layout, and there would be light too.

But I knew I was not going to stop at the basement. The lift continued to descend, and the air changed.

I stepped back and crouched down resting as what seemed like hours passed, but in truth it was only minutes. I had no idea where I was now and had a feeling I would never know. It finally ground to a halt and I glanced up as the gate slid back, allowing me to exit FINALLY. I glared beyond the doors, into a near pristine white brick corridor, above lights flashed and pulsed, a glitch in the wiring. I shut my eyes against their irritating glare.

My lip curled back over my teeth and I pushed myself up to stand, I set a hand to my side where my ribs warned not to push it. I was hurt, I needed to get out. What more did this place want from me?

A "_penultimate act of witness_" as 'Father' Martin put it. His last words. I should have been more keen to pay attention to his speech, he had told me precisely that 'my job' was not done with his death. Idiot! You walked right into this! This is all on you Miles! Walked into Hells Kitchen, and now you're eating what they've served! If I die—NO! No. No. And NO! I am not going there! I will get out of here because I refuse to have endured EVERYTHING these bastards fabricated, and then die at the VERY end of it! I was getting out! And I would make sure the world knew what I went through, what they've done to all these people, and what they tried to cover up!

But I still had doubt. I stepped through the doors and gave my new surroundings an indifferent glare. It was brisk, the air slightly fresher than the upper floors, a lot of tubes and thick cables ran along the walls. Probably recycled air. But…it was there. The old decay, the stale tang of rust and death. I was not done, not by a long shot.

I stumbled and brushed against the wall as I collapsed to my knees and sat there, staring at the two doors before me. The strobe light overhead flickered but held its illumination. I lowered my head and exhaled a coppery sigh. Not by a long shot. I raised my butchered hands to my face and buried my eyes in my palms, seeing only black. The cool, enveloping black that had been my ally throughout this entire nightmare.

Would there be no more shadows for me to hide in?

* * *

><p><strong>Penultimate as defined for me via 'net, is referred to as second to last. Father Martin is crazy genius about his religious stuff<strong>


	21. Chapter 21

Hall of Rorschachs

The lift gave a harsh clatter against the steel rails, as the cables jerked the empty container back to the ground floor. I twisted around and lunged at the underside in some pitiful attempt to latch on and ride up, or drag it back down if I must. Even if there was doubt I had the strength to hold on, I was desperate. But it was not to be, I was far from grasping the cart as it faded into the dark gullet of the chute. The clatter of the carriage grew distant as I stood in the shadows gazing up, hand outstretched. Begging. My thoughts pleading. No one was listening. I returned my focus to the short corridor with the lamps that buzzed and dim whenever a surge slid through. I was so set on getting out. Ready to say my goodbyes. I let my fucking guard down. How typical. How fucking typical.

I tried the call button beside the chutes entrance, but it required a magnet key. I recalled the Asylum, and the numerous trials I endured to locate those damn cards. I didn't believe I would stumble upon one down here, since it was 'Father' Martin that had planted them for me. God, even in death he's still giving me shitty fetch quests.

New Objective: Find another way out.

I didn't know what awaited down here, lurking. Didn't feel prepared to continue. It couldn't be worse than the twins or Trager, could it?

I crossed to the set of doors and pushed one open, and was nearly blinded by the sterile light blazing over the pristine walls and floor. Bright glaring lights, that reminded me of His cell. I blinked the dryness away as I stepped into the hall, I could detect an immediate change in pressure. Aside from the air having a dry and clinical property, I couldn't explain the sensation, but I didn't like it. Bravo for intuition.

The floor was polished and as bright and white as the cylindrical walls curved around the hall. I wasn't a geologist so my knowledge was limited, but if I had to guess I would say it was all chiseled from natural stone, from the mountain itself "…_something that had been waiting for them in the mountain._" What the hell was this place?

Now that I thought back on it, a colleague of mine had tried to relate a scientific matter to me concerning specific ores, and how it attributed to supernatural occurrences. Truth of the matter I had been a piss poor student, and constantly teased her as she tried to educate me. But I had listened enough.

The paranormal was a genre she was interested in, and she was thrilled to tell me about a place she visited in Colorado (not Mount Massive). Some ritzy Hotel, the Overlook I think was the name, its location built upon a cash of natural limestone. Scientific observations were utilized to support theories, that paranormal occurrences could be attributed to high concentrations of limestone in the mountain. Something in the mineral conducted electricity.

It sounded a little too fantastic to me, but here and now, I was beginning to wonder if Murkoff had premeditated these findings. Someone believed them. In that case, the Asylum wasn't target exclusively for the history or the seclusion. It was elected due to the qualities of the region itself.

Or maybe I was just tired. I looked up at the symbol printed above the next set of doors. I'd seen it before. No, not the lockers in prison block. The video the Priest had forced me to watch. That symbol was on the floor when the MHS tacticals were throttled like chickens. The atomic, molecular design? Or could there be further religious affiliation?

I pushed the doors open and stepped into a fresh scene of horror. I knew this room, and my anxiety increased tenfold. Blood streaked the floor, splattered on the white stone walls. Bullet marks decorated steel and glass in random areas, the pieces of a gun had been scattered over the floor with black splatters. Muscles and entrails glistened under the light as I moved from the doors. Red had dried to the large crescent desk fixed at the rooms center, two large screens sat behind it, bright and cheery in contrast to the stew soaking into the stone. One read Murkoff Corporation, the other sported the trinity Molecular design along with WALRIDER PROJECT in bold. And the symbol on the floor streaked with blood. That symbol was everywhere.

With a sigh, I took out my camera and filmed everything. It was giving me low battery warnings, but I had at least a half hour left if I didn't run out of power for the night vision. Unfortunately, there seemed to be plenty of light in this place.

"_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

_Whoever finds my corpse – trust no one and tell everyone. I am not crazy. I know, I know, only crazy people say that. But I am as sane as this world allows, with a camera full of evidence. Don't call it a gospel. Call it a mockery of reason, let the world know it is Murkoff's fault. Bury these bastards with my mutilated dead body._"

It took a few minutes for me to write. My hands seemed steady at first, but when I put pen to paper, well…. Aside from the difficulty of holding my pen against my middle finger, it was almost unbearable to apply pressure to my index finger. I dated the note and leaned back to view murder and rot surrounding me while I wrote. I needed to get my priorities straight.

A few plants dotted the room, but I knew they were fake without a glance. Polished gray pillars encircled the lobby, they didn't resemble any specific mineral. Just general grade cement to support the dark blue ceiling. The far side was comprised of a glassed portion of the wall, with thick pipes behind. Water, gas, electricity, I didn't care. Beside the wall sat a short desk, out of place among the red streaks. Two chairs had been set facing one another, and two mugs of coffee still sat on the brown wood.

I averted my gaze to the opposite wall, where a purge chamber stood open to the room, black blood washed down its sides and soaking the floor. The images came back clearly as I had seen them, despite the drugs swimming through my brain at the time. I could envision the panicked militants shrieking as their bodies were ripped through the tiny crevices in the doors, and holes of the glassed in wall. One man's legs still lay a few feet from the pile of meat, a string of organs dried to the stone.

I stumbled back into the large desk and sat down on its surface. My hand touched a folder beside me, and I looked down to flip through the pages. It was nothing remarkable, nothing relevant I decided.

_From the personal records of Dr. Wernicke. The Modern Prometheus Document: The Pride of Wisdom_

_Schrodinger Wolfram_

_"FRANKENSTEIN, or The Modern Prometheus" by Mary Shelley, published anonymously in 1818._

_Chapter 23, excerpt – _

_"Man," I cried, "how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say." _

_I broke from the house angry and disturbed, and retired to meditate on some other mode of action._

Well, it appeared they created man's monster. And it hath a wraith unlike no other being in our world. I closed the folder and pinched the bridge of my nose. It was apparent I had dug in too deep, I didn't know if I could claw out of the grave I had lain in. I suppose I had one choice. Keep digging. I didn't know exactly where I was, but I had a strong estimate. I was in the _Basement_ of the Asylum.

I looked to the security operative slumped in his chair, near where I perched. Briefly, I wondered what would become of the remains of all these people? Even if Murkoff wasn't the shady bastards that they were, it was impossible to gather up the pieces to return them to their families. The investigation?

I slid off the desk and approached the blood splattered door of the cold purge chamber. My breath hitched as I tried to inhale gently, but the pain in my rib couldn't be negotiated with. I didn't know if I could do this all over. I might need to find someplace to rest and if fate allowed, I would awaken before I died.

The door panel sparkled embers from the torn wires, probably motion sensors detecting my approach. The doors held silent, an eerie howl raised from the dark depths. I raised the NV and reassured myself there was nothing, I was alone except for the dead. The hair bristled along my brow. God, why did I put that image in my head?

I shuffled forward into the cradle of the dark. Above wires and cables ran the length of the tunnel, the walls were as they were in the entrance, chiseled and polished stone with occasional gaps that had been glassed off where additional paneling and vital equipment or systems were nestled. The camera flashed a familiar image, I tensed as static buzzed through and waited until it cleared. Nothing but shredded bodies, nothing but the secrets these people died with. I listened to the silence. For so long I was accustomed to the distant shrieks and mutter of people, behind doors I hoped to never open. Now, I was buried deep in solid rock, with only the pulse in my bones to alleviate the sterile peace.

Murkoff personnel were everywhere, lined against the walls, bodies torn inside out by a force I could never have a want to comprehend. I doubt any two were slain in the same fashion, or the method of death so violent it was impossible to replicate. As always, never footprints. But what ghost had feet?

Guts and lungs splattered up walls, I was unsettled by how fresh it appeared to be, but attributed it to the NV. Thin lines marked the floor, I knew these prints that made long red through copious puddles. I'd seen the same when I was pushed off an elevator by a lunatic. They turned when the tunnel curved, ahead light swept into the shadows. I clicked off the nightvision but hesitated to emerge. I refused to trust the helpful presence of light, but for now it was welcomed while my camera demanded a fresh battery. I dropped the old one and set the new one in. The distant clatter that echoed was a solitary thing throughout the corridor.

The wall along my right had the natural mineral trimmed away into flat walls, reinforced with cement, and steel in some areas. The metal portions were fitted with slates, or shields, that same symbol from the lobby was printed besides the shields. I stared down, the marks. Those lines went through these panels, curving around the edge. I debated the meaning as I took a deep breath and squinted my eyes.

They looked like portals or panels that could be moved. There was a set of powerful looking hydraulic hinges, but otherwise no handles or switches that could gain access. Probably wouldn't do me any good anyway. I fit my fingers along the edge testing for a draft, but judged they were airtight. Pressure sealed. This facility was dedicated to science and clinical procedures, despite the butcher of the upper floors. If there was a way out, hopefully I didn't need to access it within there. I could come back, once the rest of the Block was explored.

As I resumed on my way, something came to my thoughts, it was a bit random. In the report it was stated Billy had spoken to the Dr. Wernicke in a white room. I spun around checking the walls and surrounding surfaces. This place was pretty white. But…that wasn't possible.

I looked up and watched a camera connected to the cables in the ceiling revolved slowly, catching all the action as it happened. I glanced back at the doorway before I continued down the hall.

A Block. The large plate on the wall identified this as A Block, or the whole hall was? There wasn't much to it. I was reminded of the Cell Block's of the Asylum above – C Block, D Block. Clearly this was as a part of the Asylum as the condemned sections of the Female Ward. This didn't surprise me. But it could have been coincidence as well. I'd go with that, since I was done with the conspiracy theories.

The next set of doors had pop marks across the glass and metal, bent out in small boils where bullets had lodged. The bullets were fully visible in the glass, surrounded by the star shaped impressions that commemorate the battle. I felt the shadows around me as I huddled in the garden, the branches cracking as something swept through. That inhuman shrill. In my ear screaming as the thunder laughs, and my vision fills with white. Then I'm curled up in the room, the dry wood and cold plaster on either shoulder as I tremble and listen to the ringing in my ears. The sensation that crawls through me, I can't explain it. I've lost something, yet, nothing is amiss. I don't feel right.

I barely glimpsed the panel at my left. Morphogenic Engine. I stopped with my hand on the door and bent my head around studying the hall I had moved through. You know what? Fuck that. I can't conceive what it would look like, what exactly it's supposed to do. I don't care. I'll come back! I promise. I'll come back if I have too.

That was probably a hollow promise, but my obligations had faded since I stepped off that damn elevator. I had no luck with elevators.

A series of large canisters greeted me on the other side of the doors, pressed to the wall on my left and out of the way. The label read 'saline' substitute. That sounded kind of weird, wasn't saline a substitute? I took in details of the hall, my camera held in no specific position as I walked. The ceiling retained its natural rock, but the walls on either side resembled the interior of medical labs. This all looked like existing cave before Murkoff came along and filled it with their nightmare science. The idea brought me back to the theory of the mountains as the target rather the Asylum, and I wondered about the files I had found dating back before Mount Massive was shut down. If not for the limestone, then the isolated region was more than worth the resources to insure the quality of their uninterrupted studies.

I touched the wall on my left as I neared the doorframe. The material was metal and possibly reinforced. I don't think it was meant for militaristic operations, though they clearly took precautions for their work. For an invasion or 'terrorist' attack, a lot of good it did them.

A thin red streak slipped between the open doors I peered through, blood was spread from ceiling to floor. I blinked, staring. The air was thick with copper and rot. I was so tired of that smell, but I just couldn't get away from it. It was soaked into my clothing as it was soaking into the walls around me. I stepped inside, careful of the pieces beside the counter that had once been one or two people. Maybe three. All of them spattered over the floor, organs hung in ribbons on counters, pieces of bone scattered over metal cabinets.

I scanned the labels visible through the glassed in shelves. Most were filled with vials of fluids, many of which sported long, four syllable words with –ine or –phen on the end. Files were scattered over the sinks and floors, reminders for injections and progress with patients identified by numbers. I stood beside the rolling chairs and scanned over the room, debating if it was possible that materials remained that I could patch my hands with. Something actually medical, rather the spare shirt that would be waiting for me in the jeep.

Pipes twisted around the edge of the ceiling. I followed the sections around the room trying to recall something about pipes. They were pumping the recycled air throughout the facility, they had to. Couldn't risk foreign contamination. It sounded ridiculous in my head, but I preferred it that way.

Revisiting the hall, I turned left. The black stains of yet more Researchers coated the gray metal of Nitroglycerin tanks, scattered beside the wall. He was probably in the midst of transporting them when it all happened. A few tanks managed to stay on the wrecked cart against the wall. I poked into the next room, the remains of staff had all but painted the walls. I stumbled as I leaned on the door, just… everywhere I looked, the broken pieces of tissue and body parts was all over. I have to emphasize the ALL OVER aspect. I thought the Asylum itself was gruesome, but this was something else entirely.

I looked from the doors of the room, shot up by bullets, to the large tank of unmarked gas or fluid. At the other corner was a medical waste bin piled high with black bags, stuffed with unknown rubbish. It was a clear violation of sanitation, but for whatever reason Murkoff began to lack in strict policies during its final days. I was curious to what could be crammed in those bags but they sagged and were covered in unknown gunk, and the smell of residual chemicals did not encourage me. It was subtle evidence of distress, though at the time this room from a glance gave the delusion of order and regiment.

I stared up as I leaned on the autopsy table bolted to the floors center. Above, an arm hung from one of the pipes that lapped around the ceiling, dried muscle had peeled back to reveal white bone. Threads of intestines stuck to files stuffed into the shelves, the jaw of someone was lodged into the space between a drawer and the countertops edge. It looked like the fleshy tissue of the throat had remained attached.

I shut my eyes and rested my weight to my free arm, when I opened my eyes, I noted the pages that had scattered from a folder stained with blood. Under the harsh lamps the fluids looked fresh, almost new. The battery in the camera itself was holding strong, I used it to snap the pictures as I skimmed through.

_PROJECT WALRIDER _

_POSTMORTEM PRIMATORY REPORT MM1300921 _

_(form note: all material herein to be transcribed and revised to fit legally binding requirements of Murkoff Corp. records. See form 4083) _

_AUTHOR: Jennifer Roland _

_NOTES: My fourteenth autopsy of a Walrider patient, showing no more signs of accepting the therapy than any of the others. There have been slight gains in cell migration and morphogenesis (including effects similar to Human Growth Hormone), but nothing to suggest the stable creation of a sentient, independent swarm. So tired. Doubting my judgment. Will submit another request for leave. The psychological cost of using such far gone and further provoked patients is more than I feel I can handle. _

_May suggest hanging less hope on the far-flung theories of a senile Nazi and move towards using a simpler mechanical engine based on major sperm protein. _

_Will definitely suggest harsher chemical restraints. Murkoff Security killed patient 923 after he overcame enough tranquilizers to put down a hockey team. I'm afraid the Hormone Therapy is interacting with our chemical restraints in a counterproductive manner._

This file. This file was very important. It gave insight that had not been present in past documents. The use of words in her text made it sound like…. Dr. Wernicke was still alive.

I stared at the phrase she included which made the doctors status current, if it was not a mistake of word use. But that would make him ninety years old, at the least. I set the file down and looked upon the carnage, the violence, the death. I corrected myself. Wernicke had been alive. I couldn't imagine him surviving this. I tossed the file aside and ventured through the door, turning to the corridors end. Expulsion of gooey innards spread high on the wall, long red lines slid down before the liquid dried.

More death, more bodies that had at one time been living people. I pressed my hand to the wall as I took the right corner, avoiding the skin stretched across polished white floor. I don't know why I was self-conscious now, after I had traipsed through mounds of bodies in the Asylums halls. I couldn't even come up with a cheap theory. Every corner, I saw red and wet entrails, black skin and orange puss. The air was filled with its rancid vapor, from the methane released as the meat soured. What would they do with all these bodies? Where could you put them all?

I didn't reach the doors in my path. I had to stop and lean on the wall, gazing at them. Doors and more doors. What would be behind them? My liberation at last? I didn't care, I had to lie down, rest. The ache in my skull was unbearable, if I took one more step I would fall. I couldn't go on like this. I just kept seeing bodies and faces, images I couldn't explain. What was I seeing? I wasn't even hiding in the shadows. The shapes were no longer trapped in my camera.

The room spun, I kept myself from stumbling with my hand on the wall as I lowered down. There was a shallow slant beside the floor, I propped my good side on this to keep the pressure off my ribs. I kept the camera in my right hand and set it beside me. I wasn't planning on sleeping, just needed to give myself a chance to cut the ache. The floor was cold but it felt so good to lay my head against it. It didn't even matter how bright the bulbs were above, I could turn my face into the collar of my coat and shut my eyes.

Almost at once I felt my mind descending into a thick blanket of sleep. I tried to stir from the tempting lull, but I couldn't resist. I was surrounded by the corpses of dozens of unnamed scientists but I didn't give a damn, it was too hard to stay conscious. I escaped the pain, I escaped the world, and I escaped the cold halls churning in my mind.

As I felt my body slip into the illusion of safety, a painful spasm shot up my spine. I was paralyzed. The sensation was horrible, my muscles locked up and I couldn't will them to relax. It was as if the concept of mobility was ripped from my brain. I was a prisoner in my body, fully capable of detecting the environment around me but unable to react to it. I felt the camera in my hand as I slowly regained consciousness, but… I remained unable to rip free of the powerful vice that had seized my chest. It was too painful to do anything less pathetic than cringe. I whined as my ribs shifted in my side and gagged. I was suffocating! My eyes open drunkenly, dots whirling in my vision as my brain craved oxygen. I saw something. A dark shape leaning over me, staring into my face.

I barked out a terrified sound and swung my arms out, clipping the wall with my left hand as I thrashed. I scrambled over the floor struggling to escape thin air, until I was pressed back into the doors. I stared wild eyed, disturbed and gasping for air, despite the odd tickle in my chest. There was…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The lights blazed down as fierce as when I had dropped, my head pulsed the same as before. No change. There was no demon here.

The sharp sting returned to my finger as I recalled, I'd just smacked a stone wall with it. I clutched the shaking hand to my chest, and curled my other arm around it and barred myself in with my knees. I sat for moment fighting to forget the pain, while my filthy pants soaked up red drops.

"Nothing is here," I whispered. "Just a nightmare." My voice rattled against the walls, impossibly loud, overpowering briefly the dull buzz that hung over me. I uncoiled and trusted weight on the bleeding hand to push me upright. My body was uncooperative but my mental brawn won over.

I shut the door behind me and scanned the long corridor ahead. To my eyes it just went on forever. Probably wasn't too far off. A thick pipe extended overhead, I saw no other visible wires and took this might have been the main electrical. Beside it metal cabinets jutted from the walls, though the natural stone work remained in this tunnel, along with various protrusions. Additions, such as flues were burrowed into the rock on either side, and another thick gray pipe extended along the ceiling.

Electricity was in the air, I could feel it like the hum from a television when you first turn it on. But it's forceful, charged in the empty space but not in the walls themselves. Maybe it was the lamps overhead. I set my hand on the gray pipe testing the vibrations but felt none. I ignored the marks of blood I left behind, as I walked and swayed around the huge tanks. Many stood my height but none held clear labels, just a serial label printed on the metal top.

The sides of the floor were marked with caution strips, and other more descript warning lines marked the floor every few feet. I skimmed over the large pipes bent and twisted along the corridor walls, of what they transported I couldn't say. Looked like aqueducts, but I doubted this. Pallets stacked high with bags and covered with a blue tarp, had been abandoned in the hall. I tried to peel back the plastic cover and record what was beneath but the material was thick. I also lacked the patience. I slipped over the top rather crawl around.

Judging by the layout of this tunnel, I could deduce this was not a main wing but dedicated to temporary storage hall. Plans in the schedule might have included park the pellets in a more particle space, but that was before the shit storm hit. Or this was another example of a lapse in protocol. I winced when another thought hit. Files existed that made note on the cutback in staff costs. The man I had seen playing the piano. Had he been a patient?

I jumped when the camera sputtered, the noise echoed from the chiseled walls. Damn it! That scared the shit out of me! I held it away as the visor cleared, and continued walking. The files would be corrupt, I decided. But I could still salvage them, I had equipment for that. My shoulders shook on the thought of reviewing what I had recorded. The sounds I made when I ran from Trager. It didn't even sound like me. Was that really me?

I said that allowed, and paused to glance around wondering if it was I that had spoken. I barely began walking when I noticed to my left, a window. I skid to a stop and backed up. A window! Transparent hand prints of red stained the surface, but beyond that sunlight. Sunlight! From the outside! It was all clear golden sky, rolling hills. No more storms filled with monsters shrieking with the thunder! The outside world was still out there. It was waiting just for me.

I was staring into a militaristic hangar, a few vehicles parked under the steel structure ceiling, the walls stretched around appeared reinforced. Most important of all, there was no sign of life, no movement. Just equipment, materials, large barrels of god knows what. And that beautiful sunlight washed across the military jeep wedged in the doorway. If I was viewing it from the correct angle, no one was going to close that door unless they packed some powerful explosives. Or, had the key to the jeep. I held the camera up and filmed what I was seeing, while trying not to get too close to the Plexiglas. There had to be— Ah. Over there! Far right wall, lit up like Christmas. A purge gate. From the distance and discoloration of the window, I couldn't validate if it functioned or not. But it didn't matter, it was the first entrance/exit I had come across. There didn't seem to be any difficulty in dismantling those purge gates though. How did I get over there?

I tracked the hall that continued before me, with my eyes. If I had a map, no doubt it'd have an arrow indicating this way led to the exit. Large blue barrels sat in my path, I could view traces of blood on the walls just beyond them.

Directly behind me, another set of doors clear and featureless. Above the frame a green bulb, indicating they were unlocked? I stared into the white hall within, while my mind hunted for escape. I had visions of myself entering that small hall and an alarm going off, a steel shutter lowering like in some James Bond film and me stuck inside forever because I just couldn't let go.

Or maybe I was afraid to? Could that be it?

The doors parted automatically upon detecting my movement, the plastic panels issued a soft hiss as frigid air swept out. I paused in the entrance, not doubting my fears, whichever ones I had. I debated turning away and just leaving, working on that gate and my inevitable freedom. But I really couldn't have too much evidence.

I said that once before. But maybe I was right. I was afraid.

The short hall was cold, the air crisp, fresh. One of the two doors was left open, which explained the drop in temperature. It was a small room filled with freezers, all below zero temperatures. I stepped around the right side trying a few of the doors, but they required access codes through key panels. At the left side of the room a door had been smashed, the locking mechanism no longer active allowed numerous clear vials to spill across the floor. Whatever the contents, they had dried and converted white limestone into varying shades of iridescent. I kicked a few away with my foot and listened as the glass crinkled as I turned. Along the back wall of the room sat lesser refrigerated cabinets, the contents exposed through foggy glass.

Beside them, a dry erase board. I stood before it, my camera giving its usual complaint as I waited patiently for it to quiet. It was some form of chemical engineering algorithm, exponents and a formula function I did not recognize. All in blue marker, except for the title at the top, which was a simple label written in black.

Morphogenic Engine

* * *

><p><strong>I must apologize for the content of these chapters. I love them, but they feel sort of repetitive and I'm not key on the details, describing the labs. How many different ways can I describe white walls covered in blood, and our guy has a fucking migraine and is experiencing seizures and scared out of his mind? Again, thanks to peeps for read and reviewing. Will post the final chapter soon<strong>

**PSA disclaimer - Red Barrels reserves rights.**


	22. Chapter 22

The Scholar and the Eagle

For a long time I stared at it, struggling to identify the solution to an equation designed by math gods. It was an elaborate architectural design, and in itself it resembled a complex engine. It held a beginning and a means to no end. I pondered over it, not quite fitting the kegs in the machine together, until it finally clicked. This was the bottom line, the end note, the utopia of their research come full.

"_This is the Morphogenic Engine. A few lines of mathematics, an algorithm. Reprogram us, turn us into nightmare factories. A few numbers on a dry erase board. Give me a hacksaw and a few hours alone with Dr. Wernicke's corpse. I feel I owe him a debt._"

It was all I had come to suspect, in the end. And now, I had activated the Morphogenic Engine. Whoopee fuckin doo. Time to go.

But before I departed, I set the remaining fingers of my left hand on the board and ran them across the fractioned lines. Not enough to maim the formula entirely, but enough to leave my mark in the most appropriate way I could. Now, if I could locate Wernicke's corpse I might drag that along with me as well.

I hesitated from the sudden hiss of the doors as they opened into the corridor, I remained cautious and leaned out checking the cold white walls before I stepped out. Daylight continued to poor from the hangar doors and the jeep sat, waiting for no one. With a sigh I turned to the right, hopping over the blue barrels parked on the pathway. It was a pathway I realized, with small channels along the raised sides that could have transported water. Or collect water if the floor became wet. I soon saw this as I slipped past a cart with crates dumped across its top. Behind it, a body coated the wall. A BODY was dried to its guts up the wall, and blood had spilled from the walkway into the channel, the vent above it was thick with muscle and spine chunks.

No surprise the mutilation was this far, these people had been trying to get out at the time. How was this possible? How was this level of carnage achieved? I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact, no one— No ONE had escaped. I slowed down a bit, doubting my own competence to move those doors. Recollections of the Asylum and the rotting MHS cop, cut through my thoughts. Security Protocols, Automatic shutdown. This was all wrong.

An emergency light burned softly at the end of the corridor, I'm almost certain it was white and not that deep shade of red. Above directions indicated the Exit was to my left or right if I so chose. I glanced to the right, but the door left open only revealed a flattened ladder, upon bodies that had been crushed beneath. Blood coated the walls, as only blood could coat walls in these halls. I only stared, I didn't need to enter.

I took the dark tunnel on my left, the NV flashed until the image cleared and I waited for the colors to settle. The nightvision had only a few minutes of power left, but it wouldn't matter once I was out in the sun. I had not located the purge doors yet, and didn't know if I would need to revisit this corridor. That charge was in the air, a wild sensation buried in my muscle and bone. I was waiting for something, I expected something to happen that had not presented itself yet. I could almost hear it.

I stopped and listened, debating on crouching behind the barrels on either side of the hall. It was a sound, distant but I'm certain I was hearing it. Or, was that just the blood vessels in my ears, my heart thudding? I navigated around overturned barrels, pallets toppled on the path. It was unnerving how clear the visor had become, or was that just me? But I was sure I could see further now, than when I was trapped in the Asylum. Then my mind supplied the answer. The white walls reflected the infrared illumination for the camera to pick up.

I think lying to myself has become a habit.

There was no other sound, but for my shoes sticky with blood, the Velcro noise echoed throughout the tunnel. I turned the corner, physically fighting myself not to run. The friction in the air died to some degree, or I wasn't paying attention. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my senses and focused ahead, where the chiseled rock ended at brick walls. Beneath the walls stretched caution marks on the path, I'm certain those lines were yellow and black. I couldn't judge how far I'd come from the window or if my perception could be trusted, but I was willing to believe the doors couldn't be that much further. It looked like a straight walk.

I only made it a few steps before the earsplitting screech of an emergency siren shattered the stillness. Above, a strobe flashed and spun against the ceiling, its colors might've been yellow as easily as they could be green in the NV tint. I backed up as the camera flashed, the visor had changed and warped before it cleared. There was a hissing, a grinding shrill that ate through my soul. I raised the camera higher, though the visor flickered and failed altogether. Before then, I saw a shape materialize in open air, out of nothing. I recognized it. I knew what it was. The patients had warned me about it. Without a doubt this was the murderer who left no footprints.

The Walrider

I stumbled back as that same flash of pain sliced through my head, I saw white and images burned into my eyes. Damn! The air felt cold and malevolent, the hair on my arms and neck stood on end as I struggled to shake the stupor from my numb mind. Visor, the visor wasn't working! I pat the camera gently, the image immediately returned as I pivoted. The distortion in the hall shrieked after me, sounding like nails and death all in the same go. I felt a prying in the base of my skull as I raced to the halls end. I hadn't seen how far back it was before the camera was working, it was impossible to decide if there was enough distance. My only sane conclusion was to run and not trip.

The corridor vibrated with its grating screams, it was like stabbing hot Q-tips through your eardrums. My thoughts pulsed with images, tremors surged up my spine and bore into the back of my eyes. I saw visions of death, red filled the visor. I zipped by the remains of Murkoff's people, pieces I had glanced over when I passed. Only now could I visualize the trauma in their flesh.

I shut down the NV as I zipped away from the dark corridor, my shoes skid on the leftovers of the Researcher torn open over the light. As I wrench myself around the corner I try and glance over my shoulder where it is, but it's too dark. My skin crawled as I detected that terrible presence, as though it were reaching for my throat right then. But I was already gone, ignoring the pain as I vault over barrels, my brain high on the exhilaration that I could outrun it. I could hide from it. Whatever it was, demon, madness of science! I was going to outrun death itself.

The strobes along the wall bawled warnings and flashed red. If it wasn't behind me, the tunnel would be passive and calm as it had been during my first pass. As it was, my muscles tingled with the spastic shock I couldn't shake, the light had taken on a luminosity that stabbed my eyes. When I took the chance to gawk back, I wasn't paying attention and nearly toppled right over the stacks of sacks on pallets. I managed to twist my knees under me and skid over, and made a smooth transition to the floor as I resumed pace. My breath came in ragged gasps, as I fought back the sharp knot twisting in my side. A little further, hang in there. I shot around the unmarked tanks and all but plowed through the doors waiting for me.

Someplace to hide, somewhere deep. I needed a dark place to curl up and lock it out of my mind!

I reached for the knob but the doors ripped out of my grasp and who of all people would it be?! The big ugly fucker looming in front of me, eyes narrowed and lips splint back oozing fresh blood. I was too shocked to move, my brain fizzled out as he swept forward and snared me around the torso. I made some sort of noise and tasted copper in my throat. Where was it? Where did it go? I tried to see over his shoulder into the hall, as he adjusted his hold on me. His fingers dug through my coat as he whirled around, in response I kicked at his face. I must've hit him because he gave me a firm shake, causing my vision to ripple.

"Little pig, little pig." I blinked and saw his teeth as he jerked me up. No! No! NO more windows! He was going to shatter me against the WALL! He hoisted me over his head as I clawed at his chains, in desperation I slung my foot out and smashed my heel into his mutilated nose.

Chris gave a nasally hiss and flung me onto the hard floor. I murmured something as a rib crinkled in my chest, I couldn't take much more of this. I gaped up at him, choking as I fought to get a word out, a warning even. Instead, I crawled away with the camera clutched to my chest, and watched as a dark insubstantial vapor settled over his head. "No more escape."

It swirled around his head, dragging him back towards the wall as he let out a yowl of horror. I heard bone shatter as he struck the concrete and folded to the ground. He had barely gotten an arm under his weight, when he was slung to the opposite wall and dragged up, leaving a thick crimson trail. I continued to push myself away, stunned and terrified by what I was witnessing. Chris slapped into the other wall once, a second time, and dropped. He lay on his side reaching out, groping for a hold to drag his carcass up.

I raised my camera as the swarm dissipated, and through the flickering visor watched as the giant of a man moaned in pain, struggling to put himself back on his feet. I saw nothing, but when I clicked on the nigthvision I saw…. the form that resembled something human. Something skeletal. It slung Chris over its 'shoulder' like he was a filthy towel and launched him against the wall, more crackling as bones rubbed and muscles snapped. The Walrider flung him to the other wall, but I couldn't see what it was doing as I clicked off the NV to confirm my theory. Chris hit the high ceiling and flopped to the polished floor that was now slick with his own blood.

I turned the NV on in time to witness the apparition lift up into the air with its victim tangled in its vapor and… entered his body, or was absorbed by his skin? I gawked, jaw hanging, as Chris gave a strangled wail before his body erupted into a shower of bone and skin, his organs trailing into the nearby vent and spilling down in a torrent of blood. Bits of his body spewed off in every direction, until the pristine wall, ceiling, and floor was painted red.

I sat for some time too shaken to budge, terrified the Walrider would return to shred my body to pieces next. But it didn't. A dull ache pulsed behind my right eye and my ribs throbbed, but I was in one piece. Somehow. I didn't know if I should be thankful or not, it was hard to place my emotions.

"_This is the way you die. Ripped to pieces from the inside, watching your marrow scatter on a concrete wall. You've escaped one Hell, Chris Walker. God help me but I somehow hope you didn't find another._"

I suppose he failed his self-proclaimed mission. He never even stood a chance. I didn't want to think about what fate lay in wait for me. I couldn't get out unless I could get around that… the Walrider.

Red mist stained the front of my shirt, and fresh streaks clung to my lowers legs. I fingered the cut in my pants, the one caused when the big fucker tried to drag me out of somewhere. I exhaled a breath that tasted thick of copper. He was gone now. But he was replaced easily.

I pushed up to my feet and swayed. I wanted to say that was a close call, but it wasn't. I don't know what you call that. Deus Ex Machina? The story of my life.

The battery was done. I clicked off the NV and looked over the camera, taking catalog of its battered state. I'd be lucky to find more batteries, but it didn't seem to matter at this point. I lowered the camera and stared up at the tatters of muscle left on the vent, still wet and dripping. There had to be a way around it, or a way to distract it. I might be able to outrun it, but there was no chance I could get around it here. The purge chambers closed whenever they detected its presence, they probably remain closed. Maybe they were shut for good now! Damn precautions. I just want to get out of here!

I turned and began walking down the hall that wouldn't lead to the swarms nest. If I disturbed it again, there would be no second chance. I'd run out of enemies to feed it. There was no reason to believe it had just left for good, either. It might've wandered off and lost track of me. Good lord, my head. I'll return to the lobby, I could elude it there for a short time.

A voice drifted up from the hall as I approached, but not the sort of voice I would expect, even in this pace. I strained to see beyond the double doors Chris had flung open in his hunt. The panel that was previously locked was now open. I inched closer and stared inside, to another butchery of MHS tactical. But beyond the stack of bodies was a Plexiglas chamber with one door, no visible knob. Inside was a man in a wheelchair, situated behind a desk and calling… to me?

"Over here, please. I must… try to explain." He looked barely alive, his skin wrinkled and wrapped loosely over his bones. He was bald, and a gnarled hand adjusted the chair he was confined to. It held him together by a respirator attached to his throat. Clearly, he couldn't speak without the mechanism tied to him.

I scanned the room over before I decided to enter. The possibilities were endless, but I had doubts that I was the forefront of his concerns. Besides, I already knew who this was.

"Dr. Wernicke?" I stepped over the bodies splattered across the floor and stood before the door. I didn't expect he would open it.

His office was luxurious, maybe too much for a man that had the mobility of a quadriplegic. A large library of books lined one side of the room, while behind his desk hung a stunning portrayal of Prometheus and the eagle. I'm one hundred percent certain it was a painting and not a reproduction. I made note that there were boxes of files set on his book shelf, the crème of Murkoff research.

"I know, I know," he began. "I am supposed to be dead." I turned around as the door gave a decompressing hiss and I was trapped in here with him. "No… no such luck. I am older than sin, but somehow…the only one left. Because of Billy."

I tried to be subtle about holding the camera beside my leg and listen patiently to the doctor, but I suspected he was aware of my actions.

"He takes care of me. He may think I'm his father. He certainly loves me, the poor idiot." I frowned. I had already read the files, I was aware of their 'talks.'

Dr. Wernicke directed his chair toward the same trinity molecule symbol thingy from the labs lobby. "Do you know what this symbol represents?"

I shrugged. "Molecular contamination?"

"It warns of a Nanohazard." He turned to face me once more, and rolled toward the clear Plexiglas that separated us. "Microscopic machines. Technology we have had for decades but never mastered."

Files flashed through my memory. H Theory experimentation, long before Murkoff took over Mount Massive. "…_waiting for them in the mountain_." My hand trembled as I set it over my eye. Lights were too damn bright.

"Does your head hurt?" he asked, no tone of concern. Though a machine was speaking for him.

"No. No," I whispered. _Don't lose it now, Miles._ My pride was still intact, notwithstanding the circumstances. I caught sight of myself in the reflective surface and was reminded of how hellish I must look. "It's just stress."

He made a sound I couldn't identify, and said, "You've been through a lot."

I looked at him. "No. I have not." I cleared some of the copper in my throat before I spoke. "You knew how to access that technology?" Come to think of it, I shouldn't be asking him these questions. He wasn't my buddy, we weren't discussing theories over coffee. I was in a tiny air tight cell, surrounded by corpses.

Wernicke dipped his head as he adjusted the chair, and wheeled around the side of the room. "Murkoff discovered, in my research, a workaround." I pressed my hand to the Plexiglas to steady myself, and watched the doctor move. "Turning the cells in a human body into nano-factories. It's the natural function of cells to produce molecules, but through psychosomatic direction, we engineered the precise molecules necessary. Mind over body."

He stopped parallel to the desk and adjusted his chair, as if to reconsider the nanohazard inscribed on the wall. "It was… foolish and wrong to think we could control it. To use mad men to make something so strong." I nodded slightly.

"You have to stop him, to… murder Billy." He spun the wheelchair to face me and enforced this duty. "Turn off his life support, his anesthesia. You have to undo what I've done."

I leaned back from the barrier uncomfortably and looked upon the dead soldiers pureed across the floor. He must have anticipated my reservation. "No one can get out of this place while he lives. You must kill him."

I ran my thumb along the hairline crack in my camera and took a breath. I think my patience irritated him. "And how do I go about this?"

"Down the hall here, I will open the entrance to the Morphogenic wing." He tilts his head to my right. The door behind me whispered as air seeped back into the room. I hadn't realized how rancid the air became, while I was trapped with these bodies. "Do whatever you must to… stop it all." With that he turned his back to me, and seemed to fix his gaze on the painting of Prometheus.

I said nothing. I backed away to the entrance and paused.

"We achieved something like this back in 1944. Those fascists thought it was spirits, and we let them believe it. Let them kill themselves thinking there was some kind of afterlife empirically promised to them. Fools."

While he was turned away, I raised the camera to make sure and film his confession. "Poor Alan. He would weep to see what I've built from his dreams.'

"Billy doesn't mean harm." I glanced down to the soldiers and wondered; had they been trying to protect Wernicke, when 'Billy' escaped. Had they been mistake as a threat, while trying to defend the doctor? "He's a child with a damaged mind, granted the powers of a God. It would make any of us into a monster." Seemed so.

"You must end this. We all must die here."

There was a terse pause here. The doctor was waiting for my response, but I said nothing. I had misgivings for this statement, but I didn't humor him with voicing them. This was a true man of science.

"Murkoff knew the danger, and they didn't care," he resumed. "In the corporations' mind, we are all just dollar amounts in a ledger. And the profits Project Walrider promised overshadowed whatever pitiful balance a few doctors and patients amounted to."

I lifted my brows and shrugged though he couldn't see it. I doubted he was so white knight about his research during the time. I kept in mind he was one of the scientists of Project Paperclip and therefore, an asshole in my book.

"He will spread if you don't stop him. The Morphogenic Engine is self-perpetuating. I pray to God you have the strength to end it here with your death."

I debated with myself for a beat while I stood in the doorway. "I don't know if I'm that strong." I glanced over my shoulder as Wernicke's chair moved and I could see him watching me as I turned away.

"More than anything I want rest," his mechanical voice sounded worn, tired. "Billy will not let me die. He could never imagine how cruel this is. I only want to die."

When I was out of Wernicke's chamber, the door gave a soft hiss as it shut. Directly in front of me was the plate indicating the Morphgenic Engine chamber, and an arrow indicating my left. It seemed like hours ago I had come through, exhausted and apathetic to what it could mean. The concept at the time vague, especially after reading the complex formula left on the dry erase board. All those chemicals left in the room of freezers. They were added accordingly to a stewing pot of poison, and somehow, someone managed to misread the formula. Good job.

As the doctor had promised the doorway was open into that section of the lab. On the glistening floor I could make out the same trail marks here, as those I had noted curving into Wernicke's room. I looked up, and tucked in the upper edge of the corridors wall, was a camera. It faced forward, sentry of the tunnel.

I had no idea what to expect, aside from the limited hindsight I had if/when Billy decided to attack. My breath hitched, I don't know why. Maybe I sensed the malice and death, a heavy fog lingering throughout the facility. It coiled about the living, struggling to drag my body into the rot and forgotten shadows of the halls.

Billy was a child with a damaged mind. Did he realize what he had done? Dream therapy. Maybe not. But he was still a dangerous and wild creature, a force of nature set loose on the hapless denizens, whom had no capacity to defend themselves once he was loose. It was impossible for him to stop.

I took a breath and stepped through the door, expecting at any moment to be eviscerated and thrown against the walls. To have my skin splint open, and my brain matter smeared along the ceiling. But nothing happened. The silence loomed dark and ominous in the corridor as expected, my heart pumped as my mind pulsed. I could only sense the lurking threat twisting in my skull. At the far end of the hall a vivid aide-mémoire of what I would inherit upon failure, the red Rorschach spread across the wall. If I squinted just right and tilt my head, it looked like a man waving.

The camera jarred my thoughts when it buzzed, its image feed still recorded but the battery for the NV was done. I could only gamble that the infrared had enough power, to pick up an image of the Walrider if it approached. It was all I had.

I first approached the doors on my left, and opened them up into a shower block. The soft patter of water continued to run, at a glance I couldn't decide where the sound came from. There could have been no running water at all, and the sound was all in my ears.

In the far corner across from me, the body of a Murkoff researcher was slumped against lockers. Shower stalls lined the back wall, and the wall to my right was equipped with some sinks. I crept in and checked through each stall, finding very little but the remains of people. They must have crammed in here when it all went to hell, but either became trapped in panic or couldn't find a way out that wasn't full of murder. This idea was supported by a scientist crammed at the back of one stall, a broken camera clutched in his stiff hands. The night features of the camera were now understood by me, but it apparently did him no favor. The batteries had been used up.

I stopped to stare into one stall, at the running water and the bloody remains of a body. I couldn't recall where, but I had seen this image before. Blood down the drain. Except the red was gone, replaced with the gooey puss of the swollen guts. The water collected in a puddle beside them, and nudged the inflated mass periodically.

I turned away and crossed the room to a second set of doors, just beyond the sinks. Plaques on the wall warned employees to Wash Hands Thoroughly. Maybe at the time it would have made a difference. Maybe something contaminated 'Billy' and that's why everyone was dead.

And maybe that was full of shit.

Two doors. Two doors in and out of the shower room. I tried the second, and made sure the knob wouldn't lock or stick if I had to come back through.

The next set of doors directly across from the showers, led into the cafeteria of the resident scientists. I entered a door on my right, but found it only directed through the food preparation area. Industrial shelves lined the walls, loaded with large canisters of food among other provisions. A few steps in and there was another slew of corpses shredded over the walls and floor, guts had dried in odd twists over the tray rail. I climbed over it and out into the main diner. Rows of tables had been shoved around, the usual slaughter adorned all furniture. I noted there were fewer bodies down here than on the upper floors, but that would make sense.

When Billy began attacking the scientists, no one was hanging around asking questions. They knew what the swarm was capable of, once the first person was killed. The place shut down to prevent his escape, but it only trapped everyone down here. Those that did reach the upper floors weren't keeping track of the patients, and it only got worse when they got loose.

Security lock down. Once monsters like Chris Walker, the twins, and every other murderous lunatic got out on the loose, it was only a matter of time before the staff succumbed to their fate.

I could see it unfold right here, as though it was only yesterday. I walked around the room imagining the scientists seated, talking, comparing notes. Stressed. Project Walrider was at a dead end, many of the staff had already disappeared. Then suddenly death, sirens flashing, containment breach. The panic they felt when people began exploding, the realization that all their hard work had inevitably created something that they couldn't control. The primary exits blocked, blood was everywhere and they were unable to see the enemy, couldn't know where it would come from next. Not everyone fit on the elevator. Those that didn't make it hid themselves away, listening as their colleagues shrieked the moment before they painted every surface in vivid color. Those that survived the first wave, spent the last hours of their life in fear, wondering when it would be their turn to die.

I stopped in the hall as the screeching ceased. What hope did I have to survive? The pain buried itself in the back of my head and my vision distorted. If I hid in the dark corners of the labs, I would die. If I fought back, I would die.

No. No, I would not die here. I promised myself I'd get the story and walk out of those doors, and I damn well planned to do just that. If Billy couldn't catch me first, then I would use whatever means was at my disposal to put him down. What mattered most was that I would not stop until I was dead, and I could not stop until I was dead.

I had no other choice but to go through with it. I would do this. Whatever it took, I would kill Billy.

The last door on my left was open, just a bathroom, a dead end. Walls coated in gore, red and black stained the mirrors. I simply closed the room and moved on. The sirens were getting louder, alerting me to the presence of the swarm. At the halls end was a plaque informing the left corridor to the Morphogenic chamber.

I took the right, my shoes sticking to the liquified bodies of more employees, most must have been in this area when Billy attacked. Every few feet there was more blood, more sections and chunks and human pieces. If there was any truth behind ores in the soil enhancing kinetic energies, then Mount Massive would become one of the most haunted Asylums in the world.

The hall ended and I stepped through the available door, the room was filled with additional cabinets and more freezers. One of the reinforced freezer doors was left open and its cold air filled the small space of the room. Numerous vials had fallen out, their contents spreading through the sack of innards marking another death. Frozen icicles of red filled the freezer and gave half the room an ominous maroon glow.

I recalled notes concerning patients that had to be killed. When test subjects began to resist their sedatives, lethal injection would have been made the mandatory procedure. Murkoff wouldn't risk creating something with volatile tendencies. That couldn't be killed.

Billy was a failed experiment. Murkoff would have tried to dispose of him discreetly, then move on. But if he was somehow aware of this, then his retaliation was only natural. It sounded solid for turning him into the mass murdering, child monster that he was.

Dr. Wernicke kept the details of what happened to himself, but I did have the camera.

My hands were shaking. I had trouble keeping the camera steady, always checking the visor and only satisfied that the atmosphere was calm. But it was borrowed time, I wanted to avoid it, but I couldn't. I checked the open hall waiting before me. Markers set on the corners, contrasting white walls with yellow black warning tape. Vents overhead, cables and pipes lining the wall. No distortions, no hallucinations, no eerie shrieks. It was all borrowed time.

Time was my enemy.

I proceeded, the harsh alarm drilling through my thoughts growing louder with each step I took. Was it the swarm, or was it broken? I didn't know. I wouldn't know until I reached it.

The plate on the wall read Morphogenic Chamber, and indicated ahead with a red and white arrow. I paused to rub the stiffness in my eyes and checked the visor once more. Nothing but noise and static. How was it exactly I could tell when it was present? I wasn't certain, only that I could feel it. It felt malign and hostile. That creeping chill fortified my resolve. I would do this, I could. I would kill Billy and leave this place. Just leave. No distance, no nothing. No rest or healing, just step through the exit. Seeing the exit at long last might just kill me, I don't know anymore.

I took a slow breath and continued, tying not to view the red, the pieces. Not anymore. No more death. Focus on what needs to be done. Those marks on the floor, the ones I knew so well. They trail through the red like they were meant to be.

Wernicke wanted me dead. I knew this without a doubt. I was not supposed to be here, and he didn't want me mucking in Murkoff's shortcomings. Whether he foresaw their failure or accepted it. I was a journalist sated by the knowledge of this place, and his involvement in it. The man was legally dead in the government's eyes, but I had video footage to prove otherwise. Along with his confessions of what Murkoff had hoped to achieve, and what it had done.

It was, as we say in my line of work, the scoop of the century.

A short corridor to my right led to a purge chamber, it was already locked due to protocol. Above a light flashed its irritating color, while the alarm whirred. Someone's torso had been shoved between a series of tanks parked there, or they were ripped out of the space when they found the doors locked.

I covered my ear as I turned away, trying to focus. As of yet I had not picked up on the swarm, if it even was in this area. A plaque on the wall identified this as B Block, the Morphogenic wing. I stood beside a tank of liquid nitrogen, doubting if I would be able to detect when it did appear. What if it could hide? What if it was at the end of the corridor right now waiting for me, and I didn't realize it? I wasn't expecting myself to just walk into a lab and smash everything up, it'd be nice, don't get me wrong. But it wouldn't be that simple, and I wouldn't fuckin kid myself about that.

Or he didn't know I was here. That was a possibility. The swarm could be camped at the end of the first tunnel I had stumbled into, waiting for me. If he believed I was dead set on just strolling out. The key word here was 'if.' No evidence to prove otherwise, no reason to let my guard down.

My heart thudded in my chest as I neared the tunnels end. Three sets of doors greeted me, two double and a single on my left. I took a wild guess and decided the one straight ahead, would lead to the Morphogenic Chamber. I tried to mentally prepare myself for what would come. What was it I would need to do to shut it down? How did the life support systems function? Was there a switch in the room? What did the Morphogenic Engine entail exactly? It was self-perpetuating, that's as far as I knew.

I focused on the body ahead, a thick pool of red stretched across the floor and wall. Death awaited me. If I failed, if I stopped, I would die. I took a breath and braced my nerves as I moved towards the doors—

I didn't make it.

A soft hissing, or wail enveloped my senses and I turned to the doorway on my left as a misty figure slid into my view. I stared into the visor as I backed away and checked the NV feed. I already knew what it was before the name entered my brain.

Billy either perceived my intentions or saw my presence as a threat. Whatever his conclusion meant, one thing was for certain. He would not let me get near the Morphogenic Engine.

* * *

><p><strong>I read Prometheus and the eagle when I was a tot. My professional impression - "That's gotta suck for that dude"<strong>


	23. Chapter 23

The Demon and the Ghost

The world stopped. I'm not clear of what happened, or what was going through my head. It might've been the shock, or it could've been the buzzing. I could hear buzzing in my skull, and in my marrow. Everything around me pulsed with a clarity I was unfamiliar with, like I was only now seeing the world without my eyes. Or seeing without that greasy film that coats your eyes. When someone has an out of body experience, they can't get over how clear everything was that they saw. It's the one thing they always remark on, and how surreal the experience was. Like no one's ever died before. As if you could remember dying.

Time slowed, the world ground to a halt. And I found myself recalling my childhood. My house in the mornings, the light coming through windows. The short years I spent with my mom, my dad driving us to the store. School in the fall, the changing colors of leaves on trees. The spring time and the short summers. Playing with the kids in my neighborhood. Friends I lost touch with when I left school, when I graduated. Where were they now?

I fell from this tree when I was a kid. Didn't hurt much, but when I hit the ground I saw a light. For a while I was stunned and confused, and there was this weird taste in my mouth. Sometimes doctors ask if you have a funny taste or smelled something odd, when you've suffered a concussion. It's common in the case of seizures, I think.

The siren continued its call without hitch. It screamed in its loudest voice, but it was muffled. Everything around my head was distant and faint, it was on the other side of a wall, or I was under water drowning. My senses were numbed and my feet wouldn't move. I thought I was turning, but I hadn't budged since the Walrider coalesced within the corridor. The air boiled around its shape - vaguely humanoid - vaporous and distorted. This dark shadow of nightmares, this thing in the dark. The insubstantial mirage was there then gone when I blinked, but I could hear it. Could still make out the chatter of pellets hunting through vents, seeking to punish. Fresh blood oozed over crates, splint spines, bodies twisted in cruel shapes. I sucked in a shallow breath when my body craved air. I had stopped breathing.

It shrieked, and the screams of its slaughtered victims filled my thoughts. Rooms crammed with corpses, flies nesting in sunken eye sockets, bloated guts spilled from jagged flesh. That sound. It wasn't the Walrider screaming, it was the walls around me. Walls that had become a cemetery for the forgotten souls, trying to play modern god. Their aspiration took them so high they touched the sun, burned, then their ashes scattered across the sea. Dissolved. Forgotten. Lost.

That odd taste coated my throat as it closed in. The shape faded out then settled into form, always in flux. Never the same each time I blinked. And then I was back in the green house, wet and cold, scared out of my mind at the sounds in the trees. Warped faces stared through the windows in the brick walls, faces maimed by curious men. They had a purpose, an idea. They recited a choppy phrase to my ears. I was to be with them. I was to be one of them. The patients said the experiments were a conjuring. They were subjected to the cruelty of science, and had become the manifestation of their diseased minds. Then the thing from the dark appeared, the thing that was lurking all along. The apparition that made it all stop, stole away the pain. It came for me and shrieked in my face. The sounds. They were in my ears, in my bones, and in my blood. They followed me, I couldn't shake them. Couldn't run away.

Couldn't escape it.

All at once I was back, staring at it. At death. It was so close I could reach out and touch it. But I didn't. I couldn't.

I began shuffling back, but it was difficult. My muscles had seized and I was standing here, with it in my face as it faded. It was gone, but I could _feel_ it. Feel it watching me. That familiar stab of pain focused in the base of my neck and worked its way up, leeching into my cerebellum. I felt nauseated and choked on a gasp. The idea that I was unable to move was rejected, though I had failed to turn away, to budge. I was about to die.

Then something remarkable happened. I was suddenly facing the hall with the cylinder tanks, the freezer room at the far end. My feet blurred under me when I took off. At first I was baffled, I didn't recall tearing my eyes off that thing. But I picked up on the piercing shrill as the Walrider called. The noise sent static ripping through my brain, and agony pierced my muscles. My shoes slipped in the gelatin blood and I dropped to my knee, nearly tossing the camera. I pushed up on my hand and launched forward, snaring the tanks set aside in the corridor and yanked myself to the corner on my right.

If it touched me I was dead. Nothing survived contact with the Walrider. I didn't know how I broke away, didn't care. The distinct impression that I had recalled some important matter but lost it, lingered in me. A memory that I blotted. It was important but I couldn't focus. Too much was swirling, my senses were distorted as it was.

I cut the corner and took the door on my direct right into the showers, and dashed by bloody stalls and lockers. I chanced a look back unable to identify the threat against the white and red walls, but the air wavered with its presence as it disrupted molecules. I couldn't hide from it, but I could slow it down. As I shot out of the shower room, I caught one of the doors and hauled it shut after me. Without stalling, I swung back and snapped the other door shut with a deafening crack. I backed away raising my camera and glanced to my right and then down, searching for where it would appear next.

Could it go through walls? Had it decided to haunt the hall rather hunt me through the shower?

The nightvision barely picked it up, but I could distinguish arms slipping through the thin space beneath the door as the form clawed. It looked rather off, and I couldn't figure the science behind these machines moving through solid walls. But it wasn't moving through a solid object, it was skimming the surface, finding the easiest path. It couldn't find its way through doors, but it could slide through thin cracks if it was allowed the time.

I ran. It would take it only so long before it was free again, I could shut a few more doors between it and myself before deciding the next action. The sirens were still howling at the entrance of the Morphogenic chamber. I cringed under the din and clasped a hand to the side of me head, as it pierced into my eardrums with icy pain. Had to get through this, had to finish before I keeled over from the migraine. I pulled my hand away, half expecting there to find fresh blood from my ears.

I barely managed to stop myself from slamming into the door on my return. My hands shook as I spun the handle and pulled myself inside. A pristine white floor irritated my eyes as I glanced down, then turned my face to meet the plate on the wall before me. Just a label indicating the Morphogenic Engines direction with an arrow. Another set of doors, the small room opened up into a larger hangar filled with equipment of the facility, massive copper drums with pipes curving out of the tops, and huge control panels lined one wall. Caution strips marked the short portion of a ramp that elevated onto a metal grate, and large machines that had not met their function sat beneath a grated stairway opposite to the control panels. I swung the doors behind me shut, wincing at the reverberation that rattled my head. I needed to stop doing that if I could.

The air smelled fresher in this section of the lab. Due to the doors had been left shut, this would have allowed the air to recycle without the interference of decay. Just an observation. It was painful to breath, the residue of a chemical with no name, something illegal I would bet. If it was meant to kill me, it was the least of my worries.

I sprint across the metal grate, the noise of my shoes echoed into the pipes of the ceiling overhead. I immediately noted the stairs behind the copper tanks, which connected to walkways that lined the stone walls above. Those huge-huge cylinders blocked the one side of the room from the stairs, and some asshole had stacked barrels in the way of the only path. It was a minor obstacle. I tucked the camera to my stomach and climbed onto the barrels, and kept my balance with my free hand on a support beam placed beside the tanks. I braced myself for the inevitable jolt, and used my hand to guide my direction as I swung over. The soles of my shoes stuck on the grate when I came down, but my recovery was quick. Soon I was stumbling around the rail and up the grated steps. The obnoxious tingle of my ribs dug into my side as I reached the first level. I kept going up, winding my way around the rail and hastened up the remaining steps. I coughed as I began panting, and reached my free arm under my side where the sting in my ribs was. I promised — I promise I would sit down for a long time, once I was finished with this. The only way I would be able to rest now is when—

An earsplitting shriek echoed throughout the cavernous room. I couldn't tell if he had entered or if it was from another hall, let alone where it came from. Didn't matter. I toggled with the nightvision, searching for the disturbance it caused but couldn't locate it. The anxiety that the it could be anywhere and I had no idea, sent my heart beating twice as fast. I took the steps three and two at a time, my breath came in sharp gulps and I could taste copper.

None of it mattered. My fingers, my head, my bones. I could take the damage and deal with it in the after math. What I could not deal with, were my guts splattered across the ceiling!

I pulled myself up the rail and reached the highest walkway. The left side looked to be a dead end, but I couldn't see where it led. I charged to the right toward an open door with bright light spilling across the grate. The distortions in the air around my face became prominent. Was it here? Already? I zipped around the corner in the rail racing to the white walls with polished floors beyond. Not gonna get me, you are NOT going to get me! I snatched the handle of the door and kicked myself backwards, pulling the door after me. I whirled about, catching sight of the plate labeling this C Block. The Morphogenic Chamber was in C Block. Beside the panel, a purge chamber. I scraped through the sliding doors as they parted, and managed to hit the sealed door on the opposite end as the metal shielding snapped shut.

Purge chambers for containment. CONTAINMENT. The Walrider would be forced to find a route around. I took some deep breaths despite the chemical that was flushed through the small room. Deal with it later, have a job to finish.

The opposite door opened and I stepped out, checking first if the Walrider was present to greet my arrival. Chiseled hall of limestone, same as when I first entered A Block. Pipes ran the length of the ceiling, vents that cycled the air throughout the rooms. I looked up at a camera on the wall across the tunnels ceiling, as it swung to face the purge doors. I had half a mind to flip it off, but I preferred to stay professional.

A plate on the wall informed that the Morphogenic Engine was to the right, but I checked the left side of the hall first while I had the pause. At the end a strobe light spun above a malfunctioning door, accompanied by the sirens that blasted their obnoxious song. Everything had gone wrong but no one was left alive to care. I didn't. A corpse lay crumpled beside the door. I walked over to check it, film it while I had the camera active. He might've tried to get out through the doorway here but the lock was disabled, or the Walrider reached him first. I shook my head as I turned away.

I hurried through the hall, checking the visor while the fierce light was bearable. I didn't feel the immediate danger but I needed to plan, I remained uncertain what killing 'Billy' would require. How technical it could be. I noted the vents at the ceiling. The rattling in the sewers. The swarm traveled through pipes to access areas blocked by purge chambers. I was working on borrowed time.

More tanks sat on one side of the hall. I rushed by without a glance and reached the open doorway, the heavy stench of sour flesh swirled about as paused at the edge of the sirens din. I had seen most of the room on my approach. The door was open and within, red contrasted the white stone that made up the walls of the room. The usual décor. The constant reminder of what my failure would entail.

I shut the door behind me as I scanned over the butchery. What might've been propane tanks, or tanks of gas had nested in one corner, but that was the only out of place item. One tank lay in the red mess of a person's ribcage, but I couldn't decide if it rolled there during the action or had been lodged there. I glanced to the flashing lights above a door, and that noise… that god damn noise. I did my best to block it as I looked over to the right, and sighed. A security operative lay in the pool of blood on the desks surface, a gun was in his hand. His skull had been splint open, and more red stained down his forearm.

The gun would do me no good, but a wadded page was in his grasp. I took it and hastily angled my camera to record what might've been his final words. If I could, I would tear those sound speakers out of the walls. That noise….

"_NOTE to all personnel from Consultant MM08, RUDOLPH WERNICKE. (D&NR)_

_Do not worship the swarm, nor allow the delusions of the patients to influence your beliefs. Any sentient being based in this technology will be so far superior to us that illusions of godliness will be reasonable. _

_We have always looked into chaos and called it God. We now are blessed with sufficient power that such belief could destroy us. Do not be tempted. Remember that you are scientists."_

In the end I was wrong. Mass Hallucination and mental reprograming had been more feasible than this. This… What Murkoff had done. The patients they were using and conditioning for the Morphogenic Engine, to contract the swarm. Was this what was waiting in the mountains? It was everything Chris Walker had tried to prevent. Even in his insanity, he knew that this was a threat to the world he had been rejected from.

The patients began to worship the Walrider because they could not comprehend its function. They had no hope in gazing upon its truth, and so were humbled by its power. Insert one loony fanatic, Father Martin Archimbaud, and you'll have the beginnings of a cult following. I couldn't blame them. The Walrider had been a phantom curiosity up until Wernicke explained everything. Show a caveman technology, he'll think it's magic - show a modern man magic, he'll think it's technology. Everything had come full circle. I understood what happened here, why it ended here. And my understanding would destroy me.

That noise. I needed to get out of this room, I hadn't much time.

A sliding door bathed in red awaited beyond the desk and the suicide guard, but it was jammed and wouldn't open.

Restricted Area

Authorized Personnel Only

This was the only door that opened, the knob turned easily. I stepped through and quickly shut the door behind me. Another long corridor of white stone and polished floors. I was done with all the white, all the red. At either side of the walkway yellow caution tape warned of the gutters slipping below the floor. I moved forward, listening as the distressed calls faded behind me. A decorative but none functioning cinderblock archway was installed, overhead at either wall, vents pushed recycled air into the hall and my thoughts returned to Billy. He would be searching for me, unless he had given up for the moment. I had no idea what his mindset had been prior to the experiments, only that he seemed mostly coherent in the reports of his caretakers.

The hall curved to the left and I followed at a steady pace trying to get my heart rate to slow. The air was crisp and cool, but my nerves were no good. My shoulders shook with each breath I took. It could've been low blood sugar or blood loss, or all of that. In some vain attempt to distract myself, I reached under my coat to touch where the gash was. The fabric of my shirt was hard and thick, but not even damp.

As the sounds faded at my back, I felt almost peaceful in this section of the tunnel, as though there could be no danger. I had hallucinated the whole affair, meeting Dr. Wernicke and learning of Billy's secret. I tried to fool myself into believing this while dark thoughts lingered in the threshold of my dissolving sanity, whispering that I was to be murdered soon. The recollection caused me to jump when the camera gave its usual chatter.

I came to a large set of reinforced, steel doors that took up the full end of the corridor. As I stepped upon the nano hazard emblem on the floor, small strobes began to flash orange at the corners cautioning of the imminent action. The muffled rasp of the sirens returned, surging through my muscle. When would it end? The hydraulics hissed and a blast of warm air gushed forth, released upon the doors opening. As the doors slide apart I could bear it no longer, and without a glance I flipped off the camera just above my shoulder. I didn't care if Dr. Wernicke saw or not, it made me feel better.

Once the doors had parted fully, I was taken aback in awe. So much, I forgot my feet needed to move. I stepped forward into the apparent control room of the huge chamber, staring at what could only be the engine of the machine. The Morphogenic Engine.

"_The assembler, the feed chambers, the precursor molecules. Vague memories of nanotechnology articles I've read online, probably drunk, probably distracted. Not nearly enough to know how to destroy it._

_But Billy is the center of it. Find him. Kill him. End this._"

I let out a barely audible "Ah," as the moment caught up to me. I wrote down a hasty note and began to search frantically for a way to stop the feed, or a switch labeled in a cliché fashion Kill Switch. Wernicke hadn't been the most helpful bastard when it came to destroying his out-of-control creation, but it might not be my purpose here to kill Billy. I was doing a pretty thorough job of distracting the fuck, if he didn't gut me first

Did Billy detect my intentions? Or did Wernicke warn him?

Monitors displayed images of MREs, brain scans of the hapless victim and the monster. Long desks lined with monitors displaying nothing more helpful than password prompts and blue screens, while every other monitor seemed to be locked in 'error mode'. I tried alt, control, delete, and messing around with other keys on the keyboards, hoping for insight or a prompt. I doubt it would have done much, they were not directly linked to the engine. They only monitored the systems, made sure nothing was going wrong, that everything was 'functioning.' But this was vague guess work on my part.

The tall stacks of computers packed with customized software stretched up the walls, pushing off hot gusts of air with the effort of processing the equations of the Engines functions. Screens labeled the basic structures of the assembly, but nothing to demonstrate the methods for shutting it all down.

As I rushed around hunting, my shoe caught on the thick cables weighted to the grate. I caught myself on one of the terminals and leaned over, trying to collect myself. Above, a black screen sputtered and flashed as it distorted with errors, my eyes lost focus as I took a deep breath. There's still time, take your time. Get it done right on the first go. There would be no second chances. I made another pass over the computers, the keyboards, a few files I scattered on the desks but the pages only detailed the last print outs of the Engines readings. Nothing how to end it. The anxiety crawled under my skin. How much more time did I have? Where was Billy waiting?

On a side counter surrounded by thin wires from the terminal, I plucked up two batteries. Thank god. I took out the long dead one and put a fresh one in. It was at full power. Small miracles come through, again.

A clear door was nestled in the room's forefront, the high walls comprised of Plexiglas blocking off the Morphogenic Engines primary chamber. I half expected the doors to hold fast as I moved to them, but the hiss of air breezed across my face as they parted. The Engine, the Morphogenic Engine. The only way I would destroy it, was by understanding it. It seemed impossible.

I guide myself down the steps, my free hand trailing the gray rail while I used the camera to document the chamber. Beneath the engine the air is cool, a sort of lull in the warmth that was expelled by the monstrous contraption overhead. It was massive, extending into the cavern ceiling above, nearly reaching to the walls carved out throughout the chamber. The bulbous and cancerous Engine was vaguely featureless, resembling a dodecagon. Too many sides. Some of its flat panels pressed out gray vapors, while others glittered lights. Packed with technology, software primed for processing and running the machine, the life support, the everything that was Project Walrider. Large screens spread around the base displayed images of pulse rate, metabolic functions, cerebral scans. And those images. The images from the theater in full bloom, so perverse and cruel I couldn't bear to stare at them. Small clear pods surrounded Wernicke's machine, each is set on its own plastic seat with wires and machinery tapering from the backsides. All empty.

Correction. All but one.

"_From Billy's patient reports, he ought to be twenty-three years old. He looks like at least fifty years of rough road, pain scratched deep into what I can see._

_Killing you would be an act of kindness._"

Tubes and wires had been attached into his stomach and shoved down his throat, rigs that looked like IV drips were inserted into his shoulders, neck, and sides transferring blood or performing dialysis functions. His arms and legs bent back, away from the delicate hardware attached throughout his body. His eyes were open, dead murky eyes fixed on the twisting images of the screen above. This was the price for God like capabilities. A body that was in all respects dead to the world.

I turned away lowering my camera and rubbed at my eyes, trying to focus. There was not enough time to wander around, blindly hitting whatever looked vital. If the Walrider was in a lulled state, it needed to stay there until I could go to work. How could I shut down this massive nightmare, before he realizes what I've done?

There was a panel with a hand print beneath the screens of vital readings, but pressing it did nothing. Beside it was a folder I quickly began to sift through. Aha.

_MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS_

_MORPHOGENIC ENGINE CHAMBER MAINTENANCE SHEDULE To avoid patient injury, the Morphogenic Engine Life Pod requires a daily inspection of all Vital Systems._

_VITAL SYSTEM 1: The enriched oxygenated perfluorocarbon from LIFE SUPPORT FLUID RESERVOIR must be continually flushed and replaced through the course of the patient's treatment. (Note that O.P. also supplies anesthetics, any interruption in supply will cause sufficient pain to the patient to potentially disrupt the experiment.)_

_VITAL SYSTEM 2: Electric supply is supplemented and ensured by the SUBLAB GENERATOR. Proper fueling and maintenance of the Sublab Generator should be confirmed hourly._

_VITAL SYSTEM 3: In the case of catastrophic loss of Vitals Systems 1, and 2, the life pod FAILSAFE will engage, maintaining localized minimum life support functions until technicians can arrive. DISABLING FAILSAFE WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE PATIENT TERMINATION._

It seemed possible now. Cut off his lungs, take out the power, then shut him down. I could do this. I can get this done.

I wrote the basics down in the tattered back of my small notepad. I knew what to do, but where did I do it? I gave the chamber a careful scan, viewing only the walls grayed by the unnatural heat. The lights of the engine pulsed and flickered, further aggravating my thoughts. I jogged around the machine, and came upon a large window with a patient staring through. His arms ravaged by experiments, his face scared, he pawed at the glass not seeing me. Maybe he couldn't see. Behind him the white hallway gave way to black stains, the lamps revealed numerous Plexiglas doors. From what I could make out, they all appeared to be open. Patients that were killed? Or was the gore leftover from the doctors as result of their victims escape? I didn't care. As callous as that was, I just didn't give a fuck anymore. Around the backside of the Engine, one other pod was filled with black fluid and tissue. A failed test subject.

Not far from it, light drew my attention to a set of doors with clean windows. A plate on the wall was lit up with the lamps in the next hall. It read Life Support Fluid Reservoir. They couldn't have spelled it out clearer. I ducked through the door, and as always made certain it was shut firmly behind me. Blood splatters and more of Murkoff met me in the extending corridor. For a moment there I was worried I had gone the wrong way. Once away from the Engine and its overworked processors, tremors began working their way through my muscles as the temperature dropped. Or, was it the presence of the Walrider? He couldn't be nearby. Unless he was ahead, waiting in a vent.

I checked the NV but there was nothing. Before I began forward, I reached behind me and assured myself the door was shut. Up along the walls nested the primary mode of passage for the swarm, vents that would allow it to reach me on my return trip, if it wasn't already present. The air felt calm, stale but calm. I reached the set of doors around the halls bend, and paused to let the camera cease its malfunction. The picture in the visor died for a moment and I closed my eyes, feeling the sinking sensation as anguish chewed on my mind. Give it a moment, just a glitch.

I gave the camera a few gentle pats until the visor flashed into focus, blinding me briefly with the green tinge. Damn. I pushed one door open and entered a large cavernous room filled with vats of a clean fluid. It was vaguely reminiscent of an aquarium, with the soft gleam of lamps angled from the walls and ceiling. That same wave of comfort swept through me, only disrupted minutely by the pulse in my blood. Drums labeled saline or perfluorocarbon lined the walls, some stacked on carts. Some smaller series of tubs ran along walls into the reservoir channel, where the massive tanks filled with the lucid fluid sat in rows. Huge tubes were directed down into the tops of the massive tanks, while the other ends were angled into the cement walls of the chamber. These large tubes were everywhere, in various sizes, in organized series directing their flow into tanks, or under the metal grates surrounding the tanks. Back up flows, filters, diluting tanks. My head was spinning as I took it all in. All of this.

"_This is Billy Hope's lungs. His liver. His life support. A machine the size of a football stadium to keep one lunatic alive. Fuck it all. Break it all. He has to die._"

I leaned on the rail as I put away the notebook and pulled my camera from its pack. I closed my eyes for a moment and pressed the remaining fingers against my temple. Had to keep moving, can't stop. Billy could be anywhere and I hadn't even started. I couldn't delude myself with the idea that he had no idea where I was.

Beside where I stood a large black stain stretched on the cement floor near the reservoir, near the stairs I was to take. An unfortunate worker? Or someone that had only gotten this far with the scheme to stop the chaos. I couldn't shake the impression that the further I dived, the less human these markers were becoming. If I held my breath and stared through the visor, the remains were nothing but a massive kool-aid stain. Oh yeah.

I took a breath and let it out. Copper and rot. Death. I moved onto the grated walkway that bent around the massive vats. If I kept moving I could block it, I wouldn't have a choice before long. I shivered, though the air here must have some heating, the clear liquid looked frigid. It was a tinge of emerald, or blues, due to the minerals that might have been intermixed to diffuse their properties. A lot of science and math I couldn't comprehend. My head…. Why was I trying to make sense of all this?

More pipes, tubes, insulated cables. Everything devised for the machine, for the thing it kept going. A plate on the wall notified that this was, indeed Block D. This seemed like some important detail, but I couldn't recall why. The Life Support Reservoir was in D Block. Fantastic. Those that were slaughtered here were no less dead than those in the other four Blocks.

I reached the end of the walkway and set eyes on more vague stains of the former masters of the Engine, plastered across the floor and metal wall beside the stairway that twisted upward. It connected to a catwalk that crossed beside a Plexiglas room featuring screens with scans, and details of the patient were visible from my position as jogged toward the stairs. I winced when I set my hand upon the rail, the sticky remains of some organ had deflated over the yellow metal staining it orange. I swallowed at my dry tongue and gazed up as I began, forcing myself to take the steps two at a time. I cleared the top and twisted to the side room that must have controlled the chemicals distributed in the life support vats. Green screens flashed with pulse rates, others scrolled walls of text. I touched the Plexiglas to steady myself as I stared in, mind racing. The scream of the Walrider became a distant echo in my memories, but always present, always haunting. The realization that Billy had a heartbeat nearly made my thudding heart stop.

The doors into the control room were open, and inside was very little to aid my mission. A few documents with shortcuts through the menus and print outs of the patients status prior to his murderous rampage, along with common chemical formulas. The monitors demanded passwords, their constant drama, while offering clips of data that would regulate proper flow of nutrients uninterrupted. It was all self-sustaining, as Dr. Wernicke had put it. I had a small surge of optimism for some much desired guidance, when I located a thin folder left out. But it was just another of one Wernicke's, Frankenstein's Monster excerpts. What the fuck was his deal?

_From the personal records of Dr. Wernicke._

_"FRANKENSTEIN, or The Modern Prometheus" by Mary Shelley, published anonymously in 1818._

_Chapter 4, excerpt –_

_"Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that modest man than he who aspires to become greater than his nature allows."_

Dr. Wernicke should have stuck with his garden and cats. He was brilliant, I'd give him that much. Senile, but brilliant. Oh fuck, my head.

I left the room taking the unexplored route open on my left. There was little to note, the grate was bare of tools or materials. The lights were dimmed, this helped me focus to some degree. It was only my steps echoing across the distance of the chamber, I constantly checked over the vats scanning the visor for distortions. The battery was holding up, which I decided was solid indication that I was alone but I wouldn't depend on my muddled observations. Overhead, a distinctive blue pipe extended, a main flow, for something. It T'd off at the walkways end, one end was capped off and the other attached to the wall at the other side. The catwalk took a right, directly to what I would bet was the large master valve in the midst of the vats main flow. I secured my camera as I walked up to it and took the handle. Behind the wheel was the warning DO NOT TURN VALVE. Fuck you, I'm gonna turn this valve.

I braced myself, locking my heels in the grate and clamped my teeth together as I forced it. The wheel didn't give easily despite its fresh appearance but once it shifted, I kept at it until the damn thing couldn't be forced further anymore. I dropped to my knees hanging onto the wheel with my palms and panted, the black dots pulsed in my eyes as my heart pumped in my chest. Almost there, one down, what was next?

The pipe gave an eerie hiss when the fluid flow was cut off, and a high pitched shrill echoed somewhere that was not far enough away. Billy must know now what I was planning. He'll try and intercept me!

I took time to think back, check my notes. My hands trembled as I produced the notepad. Had to calm down, there was no hurry. None at all. Lying to myself didn't work well, and I wound up ripping one of the pages as I tried to steady my hands. Needed to cut the power off, that will initiate the emergency failsafe and after that I need to just hit the switch. Just keep it together a little longer, we're almost there.

I stuffed the notebook back in its pocket, my index finger was bleeding from something I'd done but couldn't recall what in my panic. I shoved myself to my feet and began running. Distance! Need distance to keep away from it. As I hustled back to the winding stairs, I heard a somber howl clatter across the chiseled stone. The lights fluctuated, or I was seeing things. That hissing whine, the resonance of a piercing scream hit me as my vision blurred. Something that ground between realty and nightmares was closing in fast, and even without the camera I could mark its heading. It was levitating above the vats, headed directly for me.

No you will not! I skipped down the steps of the walkway and grabbed the rail rather continue down the remaining steps, couldn't lose any more time. I felt the hair on my neck stand on end as I climbed over the rail and hopped off between the vats. The entity shrieked overhead, as it gave chase or averted course. I couldn't discern the mobility of the swarm, nor could I chance pinpointing it without my camera. It was purely instinctual I think, or something similar. It could cut straight over the vats as I weaved between them, but if it didn't touch me I would be fine. I could outrun it.

The doors were ahead. My shoes stuck somewhat on the dried blood across from them, the incident nearly caused me to fall when I jerked my feet free. I didn't have time to reflect how morbid that was, my hands were already dragging me beside the blue barrels as I forced myself along. This was getting to be too much. My skin was rubbing on something in my chest, and the sensation weighted my feet down. Not even the reminder of the outcome present if I stopped seemed to phase me. I was losing steam.

I smashed my forehead on the door when I leaned over, struggling to make the knob turn as I tried to walk through the gray metal. Somehow, I did manage to get the portal open and slip through, and slam the door on the warped vapor without further trauma to my body. But I did have trouble dislodging and continuing on with the task. Each ragged breath I took ached in me, and all through me. I could scarcely believe I was still standing.

The Walrider gave a hiss as it must have begun struggling under the door. I backed away and fumbled for the camera, and checked the NV feed. The visor distorted and flashed but I could make out the vapor dragging itself through the thin crease.

There would be no purge chamber between here and the Morphogenic chamber. It would not stop until I was dead.

I spun away and made my legs move. I kept a tight hold on the camera as I breezed through the next set of doors. Two minutes, less. Needed to find the next area, the power Sub lab. Had to stop the power and kill him!

The lights of the chamber flashed, the intensity stung my eyes for a moment as I raced around the Engines cavern hunting for a sign, a direction. I sifted through my thoughts. What doors did I see when I was searching for the reservoir? There was nothing but the patient behind the window, life support pods, and the few stairs leading into the control base.

When I rounded the Engine, I noted the irritating strobes flashing near the top of the chamber. I hurried to them, the stairs coming into focus through the steam puffed out by the machine. They were hidden beside an unmarked copper tank, and I could make out the set of doors atop the level. All this I had missed on my initial pass. I'd be stuck up there once the Walrider came through, but it was the only lead I had. That had to be it!

I hissed at myself as I reached the stairs, all this running and rough movement. This was everything a doctor would tell me NOT to do. Later. Later I would deal with it. Maybe when I was finished Wernicke would take a look at my injuries? Hah. I'd trust 'Dr.' Trager over him any day.

The plate beside the stairs leading UP read Sublab Generator. Really? Heading upstairs didn't seem sublab, but I couldn't argue with it. I pulled myself along the rail, juggling between holding the camera to my face and using my bad arm to jerk around corners. It didn't help my side much but the muscles in my legs were aching, my blood sugar content was nada and I was teetering at my limit. When I stopped, if I paused, I would die. No second chances. Just pain and the void. I didn't want that. I wouldn't accept that!

Move-move-move! Faster-faster-FASTER! I could hear the sounds of the Walrider on the floor, hunting for my path. If it didn't know where I was headed it would figure it out shortly.

Computers lined the right of the level as I reached the top stairs, but they were nothing helpful. The obnoxious strobe was overhead as I ducked to the doors. That scraping yowl crashed through my eardrums, it sounded close. I hauled one door open and checked back, just as the ghostly figure materialized on the NV. FUCK! I jerked the metal door shut, swung around, and exhaled.

A stack of barrels impeded my progress. I couldn't shove them out of the way, but there was just enough room to squeeze between. Meanwhile, the swarm screeched as it clawed under the door. I doubt it would have trouble reaching me around the barrels.

Upon reaching the other side, I took in a few tight gasps of air, and put as much power into my dash as I could manage. Another obstacle of large tanks sat in the corridors center, or near center. I swept around them and met with blinding white lights blazing around the doors just beyond. I was still staring into the NV and only saw the door, left ajar, and blasted into the next room. My knee caught the edge that was left shut and I tripped, falling to my shoulder. I tumbled before I could put my feet under me, and whipped about half crawling back to the door. I shoved it closed and leaned on it a moment as I choked on my breath. I wasn't sure if the Walrider had reached me yet, didn't care. I had a mild limp from smashing my knee on the door, but I hastily walked it off. It stung like a bitch and my leg had trouble holding my weight, but they were the only thing keeping me alive

I ran to the middle of the chamber and appraised my surroundings. The air was warm, almost unbearable in my stiff coat. It was difficult to make out my surroundings, due to the steam caused by condensed air formed when the cool and warm air clashed. It must've been caused after the valve shut off. If water wasn't cycled in to cool the software of the Engine it would burn up. That would take too long if it could manage to kill Billy. I coughed at the steam, it was thickening.

Where was I going? Sublab! Where was the damn sublab? As I moved around I could identify tarps covering stacks of pallets and materials, the full dark expanse of the hanger… and another set of stairs leading up.

Up again! At least when I came back through, I'd be going down. Needed distance though, going up a set of stairs made me a sitting duck. I would burn energy and the Walrider presence didn't seem hindered by these limitations. Not only that, but the stairs were endless! My legs were beginning to ache and the pain in my side was becoming a hot swell of agony. As I continued, losing track of how many flats I passed, the air thickened with heat. Sweat seeped into my shirt and ran into my eyes, I wanted to wipe my face but I couldn't manage the command. Just a few more feet, one more set of steps, then it'll be leveled platforms. A little further.

It felt like a lie every time I chanted it, each corner I turned there were more stairs up and up. Up and Up and Up! Until they swallowed up the light and I had to rely on the camera as I made the desperate climb. My calves burned, it was becoming impossible to lift one foot after the next to the succeeding step. I was on hand and foot, by the time I reached the end. The sharp clarity of light startled my stupor, and I dropped to my knees when I reached the topmost level of the catwalk.

My breath was labored and uneven, and my eyes couldn't focus on the large gap where the floor should have been. My delirious mind struggled to make sense. I had all but forgotten what I was doing, where I was going. While stranded in the fever, only one thought was screaming through, scrambling my brain matter like a hot bullet. The angry shriek of the Walrider as it skewered the distance. Too close, it was too CLOSE!

I dragged my body up and over the yellow railing. Distance! Distance from the Walrider. I needed the distance to jump! I stuck the camera strap in my mouth and pressed my back against the cool metal, it hurt but I wasn't far enough back. I couldn't get far enough back. Was the Walrider clawing at my spine yet? Would it rip it free? Would I feel it?

My feet whirled under me as I made the full sprint for my life. There would be no repeats this time, I would hit the other side and keep going. No stopping. No quitting. Not until one of us was dead!

The hounding noise of sirens cut through, they somehow found me so high up. I could picture my body, an obscure stain on polished stone. Bones protruding, teeth scattered. _I don't want to die._ Muscles deflated like spoiled fruit.

Red flashed through my eyes when I hit. Oh god, oh shit…. The pain gushed through my chest, and red mist scattered under my chin. The camera clattered a few feet away, but it was staying where it stopped and would not roll back this time. My feet kicked under me struggling to lock the grooves of my toes into the grate. That sound! Where was that noise coming from?! I dug my mangled fingers tips into the gaps in the floor and heaved myself forward, groaning at the pain. My vision swam as I crawled towards the camera. Everywhere, the lights seemed to be dimming.

MILES! UP! KEEP MOVING!

For a short span I didn't hear the Walrider. Couldn't sense my body as I dragged onward. I felt nothing. Only the ringing in my bones as I staggered to the camera. It was heavy in my hand as pushed myself upright and continued forward. I picked up the pace though I can't recall any of this. All I could feel repeating in my thoughts was distance. Needed distance. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. Move.

I pulled up the NV as the path to my left darkened. It came to a wall, forcing me to whirl around and dash into the gloom absorbing the tunnel. My senses began to clear a fraction and I felt the Walrider, its fury projected off it in waves. The pain in my skull returned, but my feet refused to stop moving. I wasn't thinking about escape, my focus was on that horrible screech. How dark it was without the light, how comforting that was. All of these repetitive thoughts, a motion, a sway, autopilot. I would be dead if it hadn't switched into gear. My feet were moving under me, but I don't know how fast. Would I be able to outrun death?

I stumbled around a stack of bags on something hard, something solid. It was getting hard to perceive my whereabouts. The dark was penetrating, the dark hugged close to the range of the NV as the power began to die. Even the dark could not save me now. My feet slipped in red, but I remained upright and pressed on, gaining speed. I don't know how this was possible, couldn't ponder it. The Walrider was not far behind calling with its inhuman voice. The shrill cut over the stone as it sliced through my thoughts, the sensation merciless to the swirling mess of my scattered mind. Was it calling for me? I couldn't answer.

The corridor turned left through another redundant archway of cinderblock. I must have been moving too quickly, I sprawled across the cart parked beside the wall. I pushed myself around it and held steady. I forced what energy I had available into my legs, and saw at last the burning light of a door ahead. A purge chamber. Did it still work? Was it open? It didn't matter. If I could keep on my feet until I reached it, then that would be enough.

The light that was my greater foe had become my salvation.

The doors whooshed open and the stale odor of chemical and sickness poured over me. Once inside I toppled to my knees, the doors hissed shut behind me cutting off the Walrider. It knew not to enter here. I glanced back its way, though the secondary lead doors refused visibility of it. I kept my eyes locked on the metallic coating as the pumps decontaminated the air, and the doors across from me opened. I waited, watching, refusing to move. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to.

So much left to do. Had to keep going. I repeated it in my head. I wasn't done. I would never be done. There was more I could do, so much more I had left to do. I swallowed and wiped the dampness away from my lips.

My hand came back with fresh blood.

It would be all right. Keep moving, outrun death. I used the edge of the door to drag myself to my feet and kept the camera in my hand. That humming was present, but there was no way the swarm could be here. I poked my head from the doorway as I leaned on the frame, my body felt too heavy. There was no shrieking, and it was then that I couldn't decide which sounds for certain came from the Walrider.

It wasn't here. For now, I was safe. That's all I needed to focus on. I stepped out and hesitated. The lights were out across the lower level, but what lamps did work revealed yet more stairs.

This place, have I mentioned it? Could go fuck itself.

But I had time. The Walrider couldn't access this room unless there were pipes, unless there were vents. Unless there was a 'work around'. I used the camera to search the steel plated walls. Might be lead, it would prevent radiation contamination. Did the Morphogenic Engine use radiation? It must have. I didn't want to consider the long term effects.

I took the steps slowly, one at a time. I didn't feel rushed, didn't feel encroaching doom or death snapping at my neck. Everything was calm and normal and I could resume deluding myself to the illusion of safety. There was nothing here, nothing that could harm me short of an unfortunate tumble. My strength was at its limit, I couldn't push myself further. Not even the promise of death could persuade my sluggish limbs.

E Block. The blocks didn't matter. A Block. B Block. C Block. B Block was the exit, wasn't it? Where had that gone?

My toe caught the last step and I collapsed to my knees. It wasn't a far fall, but it jarred my side and I hissed through my teeth. When I looked down, there were wet red specks on the cameras grimy side. It was okay. Didn't mean it was the end of the world. I had worse before, in worse conditions.

Except there had been doctors, and they knew what they were doing. I wasn't dying, it only felt like I was dying. I wasn't dying now. I was going to get through this. I just had to STAND UP!

"Please." I adjusted myself on my knees and lifted, raising my camera arm and looped it over the yellow rail beside me. Once steadied and the noise faded a bit in my ears, I rocked, sliding my foot and angled my body. "Get up." It took some effort, some coaxing, but I braced my arm against the rail and pushed up on my feet until I was standing.

On the one side of the room was a terminal set up with computers, the irritating blue screens gleamed in welcome as I crossed the grate towards them. On the counter sat a forgotten coffee mug, filled halfway with black goop. What a tragedy. I put my hand on one of the chair backs and slid it out. That chair was incredibly soft, I can't remember a softer chair. I leaned on my good side and set the camera in my lap, but made sure to keep my swollen hand locked in the strap. It wasn't going anywhere. I just… needed a moment. A pause to collect myself, whatever of that was left. Wait for the Walrider to find me if necessary. Just a moment. Let the pain subside and I'll be ready.

My head drooped and the world faded away. If I never found my way back, then that would be fine as well. But I didn't believe I would be that lucky.

* * *

><p><strong>It's very important how much Miles is pushing himself to get his done.<strong>

**Ps. Hope everyone has a nice 'Miles' voice established for his dialogue. I'm not telling you what I think he sounds like, or what I think he looks like. He's a man in a coat. And we share a common taste in shoes. Love my shoes. I wear them to work**


	24. Chapter 24

Morphogenic Engine

"_The Engine. The Morphogenic Engine. It gets in my head like a song you can't stop humming."_

The air is cool and fresh, filled with the scent of fallen rain. Dusk is fast approaching and the lights from the lamp posts burn with a clarity I'm not accustomed to. I take a breath smelling the moist soil, pine, soggy leaves. I stare at the edifice before me, my adversary, a world of untold horrors, consuming nightmares as they manifest in fractured minds. I couldn't know any of this staring at the covered windows, the compliant walls. The wind picks up and I pull the collar of my coat closer to my neck.

That sense of foreboding returns. The place was unnatural, but I couldn't decide how. It was just a tall building of brick and wood, with the mountainous region backdrops. The tall buildings thin spires stretched high overhead into the heavens, where men once flew to touch the sun. It was hard to imagine the warmth of the sun with the chilled air swarming. In my ears was a humming. It had always been present, unending and livid with cadence. But I had ignored it. Ignored it like I had ignored my instincts about this terrible place. Something was in the air, a charge, a warning. When did it become so thunderous in my ears? Or was that my heartbeat?

I ran my thumb along the inside of my palm counting my fingers. When I reached the fourth digit I turned my head down and stared at my shoes. It buzzed in my bones, until my outer extremities were numb. My skin and muscles felt hot and cold all in the same sensation. It was too much. Or was it the sound? That persistent din, rising above the still forest and jagged mountains that surrounded me. Driving into my skull until I could hear nothing but the booming howl in my ears. I felt my consciousness waver, it was impossible to stay upright. Where did that sound come from? Who was making that noise?! Why?! Why did it follow me!?

My lips pulled back over my teeth as my jaw clenched. Why? Why any of this? Moisture rolled down my cheeks, a few drops hit my coat turning the brown into a black spot.

A sudden presence is at my back. I could hear his breathing, soft but ragged. I jerk my head up terrified to turn, frightened by what would be there, what I would see. But the fear fades when the actions fails to come, and once again I was staring at the Engine of nightmares. Mount Massive Asylum.

"Little ghost." The voice crooned behind me. "Little ghost. Time to wake up."

My eyes open a crack and I found the edge of my face pressed into my bloody shoulder. Where Trager had clipped me. The fabric of my coat felt sticky against my cheek, though the blood had dried hours ago. I exhaled slowly letting myself reacquaint with the pain, my reluctant return to the muggy and distorted world I had come to inhabit. A ghost to pragmatism. It took a brief moment for my mind to catch up, reload the most recent events. What had I been doing? It was painful to recall. How long had I been unconscious? Enough to help me carry on. I had no choice, there was no telling where Billy was. I would get moving and leave the nightmares far behind.

The air felt cold and my shoulders shook. Needed to move. Needed to get up.

As I used my hand to brace my body up and leaned forward, I looked to the sheet of paper set on the computer desk beside the keyboard. It was a single page, stained with a ring of coffee. I focused on it reading through the lines over and over, even when I had it memorized.

_Please find attached the "Permission to Proceed" form for patient William Hope, of the Murkoff Charitable Psychiatry program at Mount Massive Hospital in Colorado (USA). The form is standard, and all relevant lines have been signed. It appears Billy is unaware of his mother's recent guided cardiac arrest. He is submitting to the experiment with the understanding (unfounded) of financial remuneration to his mother and a charitable contribution to her church._

_Wernicke, having read the boy's dream reports, believes he has enormous therapeutic potential._

Was Billy's 'success' as an experiment, because he refused to die? I couldn't say. He took the therapy they gave him, he bought their bullshit, and now he and his mother were no better.

Damn you Murkoff. Damn you for this. You reap what you sow, now choke on it.

A drop of water stained the page, and I quickly rubbed the dampness from my face. Carefully, I folded the sheet up and inserted it into a clean space of the notebook. Not as evidence, I'm not sure what to call it.

I didn't bother to zip the pocket shut. I pressed my hands to the terminal as I straightened my back, working the stiffness from my muscles and feeling that piercing tingle in my ribs. My feet felt firm under me but my heart was aching. I was hollow and lost, despite the resolve that had solidified in me, for what must be done. One task left to resolve, then I could wash my hands of this place.

Aside from the alcove with the desk of computer terminals, there was no other space to explore, but for a short catwalk beyond the desks. The grate extended out above the cavernous expanse of E Block, below extended the catwalks and paths I had dragged my broken body up. The present lamps anchored to the walls gleamed with ferocity, I squinted my eyes against them as I stared out over the open gap I had thrown myself across. The pain flared through my chest and I exhaled that stale coppery taste. It barely registered in me that I had been up here for god knows how long, unconscious and Billy had an abundance of time to finish me off. My dire state was somehow lost to my sense of self preservation, or maybe I was too focused on the humming of the generator. I told myself Billy was weakened when his anesthesia was cut off, I had the advantage. He was forced to wait. Bide his time and wait for my return, and that was when I would fear for my life. That was when I would run. When that eerie shriek reached me. Until then.

Until then….

I checked through the cameras feed to view what was visible in the thick fog gathering. The Morphogenic Engine must have been overheating, that's the only explanation I could conclude for the condensation. I bit my lip as the image in the visor flashed. The power in the camera itself was getting low, and that could further contribute to its failure. But there wasn't much more of this to endure. Another white lie to keep me going.

The catwalk ended beside metal cabinets built into a cement shed, which extended from the floor somewhere below and up into the ceiling overhead. This was it, it had to be this. The generator for the Engine. I was a bit shocked that it wasn't more impressive, but perhaps I was only seeing the surface of it. There would be a panel, a door to open and access the wires. I secured the camera as I fumbled with the other hand, it was difficult to see but I attributed that to the steam. One panel had a set of hinges along the crease in its side. This was it. There was no visible latch so I just gave the panel a good smack and the door popped open, allowing access to several large bundles of cables hooked into a transformer. Which ones did I pull?

It was always a good policy to start with the middle of anything, if you're not certain. I took the middle bunch and put my other hand up. It shouldn't spark if I was careful, and don't hold it too tight. I winced as I snapped the clamp free. Nothing happened. Good. I popped the rest free with reckless abandon. A soft dying whir faded with the connection now severed.

Sirens chime a warning of the interruption, the cavern groaned in dying with the loss of power. The experiment would perish, and the howl of something more rose up among the catwalks. I couldn't decide if the echoing call was the machine weakening, or the thing it kept alive. I stood at the rail listening, as I poked my thumb into the cut in my coat sleeve. Caused when Trager had endeavored to take my head off.

It was eerily silent, and wondered if at long last Billy would locate my position. There was no doubt in my mind that I could reach the purge chamber before he reached me, but there was nothing. No scream, no rippling distortions in the steam, no malevolent presence. Only the soft chatter of the generator as it sputtered into silence. I spun around and began my way back.

That could have been it. The memo did warn a possible interruption in the experiment, if sufficient distress was introduced. The life support fluid and the anesthesia had been disabled, and Billy seemed unable to reach me despite my exhaustion. Maybe cutting the power had been enough to stop him.

I would still disable the Fail Safe. That was the only assured way to terminate the Walrider swarm. But that would be a simple matter once I reached the Morphogenic chamber. It remained a ways on the other side of the facility, and I wouldn't gamble that Billy wouldn't be waiting on the other side of purge doors when they opened.

My feet stumbled when I moved off the last step and crossed to the open doors, and the light within. The purge doors gave a soft hiss as they shut, and I leaned on the wall as the mist filled the small space. I was ready to bolt when the doors opened, my muscles were not ready to resume, but I wouldn't stop. I had to get around and keep going.

When the panels scraped open, there was no shrill hiss to greet me, no vaporous form lingering beside the doorway. I dithered, before I peered out with the camera. I had to change the battery, but the replacement was full on power. Enough to grant passage out of here.

Nothing was there. I made my slow trek through the corridor, unable to decide if there was this much blood when I first came through. The pain in my skull intensified, I muttered something to myself. I was trying to coax myself to keep moving. It wasn't much further, and then I could puke and pass out if I needed that. I doubt it'd get me away from the pain for long.

Despite the heaviness in my gut, my pace quickened. Maybe that was it. Maybe disrupting the life functions of Billy stopped the swarm. It was too good to be true but I was making progress, as long as I didn't let my guard down. I didn't need to get ahead of myself and fall into a trap. That's happened to me too many times.

The end of the corridor came into view and I slowed my pace to gaze out, straining my eyes to see through the blazing light in the damn visor. Nothing to indicate the presence, no sound. All was calm. The visor did flash but it just did that. I clasped a hand to my eye, that impossible pain. Why my right eye? Once I was moving again I could block it. But why?

As I began forward I hear it, very close. That awful taste coated me throat, something about seizures. And a light. He wasn't gone yet! Where was it coming from?! I spun about and saw the wavering ripples coalescing above the open expanse across from the catwalk, skimming towards me. Shit. Shit! My foot caught on the rung of steps that elevated up to the grated walkway. For god sakes Miles, PICK UP YOUR FEET!

I shoved the knuckles of my camera hand into the gaps in the grate and pushed myself up, stumbling to get onto my soles. Had to cut the corner, it was going to cut me off. Gotta jump! Secure the camera! Gonna— jump— secure the camera!

The edge of the walkway was under my feet and I launched off into open air. I had no idea where I put the camera, couldn't care in the moment. It didn't feel like I had enough momentum behind me when I jumped, but—

I gave a sharp yelp when I was torn out of mid leap and dragged backwards. I couldn't overcome the terror that choked me, now that I was suspended high-high above a hard floor without a solid surface to latch onto. And in so much pain! My spine was somehow being flossed between my ribs. I gagged and whimpered, Christ, the unnatural sensation! My feet jerked beneath me and dangled, I couldn't feel my toes. My arms pin wheeled out from my body as I tilt backwards, disorientated by the violent movements I was being spun in. The camera! My mind automatically locked onto that. I felt the cameras weight in my upper arms sleeve. I found my camera! It was safe!

I snapped around and suddenly the apparition was at my face. It was expressionless from what my distorted vision could make out, but I could FEEL it sneer. Its anger. I stare wide eye trying to take calm breathes, its 'hands' tighten around my chest and I let out a whimper. The pressure was intense, digging through my coat and shirt and piercing into my muscles. I couldn't help but let out a pitiful sound.

No. No. NO! Guts and gore! Liquefied Murkoff! Chris' final squeal of agony as his body scattered over white stone. A blast of cold pulses through my body as I try in vain to kick free, but I can't feel my legs.

The Walrider fades and I give a short cry as I'm propelled backwards, my neck snaps back on my shoulders and the sharp pain flares through my skull. I can't see where the Walrider has gone, but I'm twirling through open air, falling past the rungs of the steps I had hobbled up earlier. The light flashes over my eyes as I plummet, screaming as the ground is coming up fast. For some reason I wonder if my camera will survive the impact.

Then it's there in an instant, I can't keep track of what's happening with my ears ringing. One of my arms plasters to my side as the other flops out, searching for a balance, some sort of hold. I can't decide if I'm still falling or rising, but I open my eyes and to take in the light. I squint against the bright lamps, and its then that I feel its arms digging into my midsection. The cruel shriek blasts through my ear, as it flips me over. The edge of the metal catwalk is right there! I snap my eyes open and I claw out for the metal edge, desperate and panicked. I'm positive I could reach it! An inch more! Even if I don't have the strength to pull myself up, I have to get free of its painful clutch!

I yowl out as the Walrider constricts, I could picture my organs popping one by one under its 'fingers'. There was a sound, I'm unsure it if was the Walrider or me, but I'm flung away. My heel smashed over something metal as I spiral, tumbling down through the muggy steam. I see the light and shadows pulse by my eyes, mixing until I'm dizzy and sick. I let loose a sob when I see the pallets and barrels on the floor below, come into focus. NO! NO!

Somewhere in the dark it snags me and I struggle wildly against its grip. The cruel hands twist deep into my chest, its sharp fingers coil over my collar bone. Ice. It's just like ice! My jaw snaps loose and I gag, and howl, anything to drown out the pounding in my ears. The electrical plague surging through my body. Its hold loosened then, and I plummet through the dark before smashing into the light. And the stone floor. I try and brace my fall by throwing my arms up, to protect my head from the lamps. Keep my teeth from scattering. My elbows absorb some of the blow, and I hit with all my weight onto my bad side.

It probably wasn't the best action, but I immediately thrust myself upright from my hands and try to stand. To walk. I moan in my throat as the world tilts, I can barely see with the way the colors distort in the light above. My ribs shift back into place and I gasp, struggling to catch my breath without choking on my tongue. God… can I walk? Am I able to—

Not done! I'm not done yet! I lean on my leg as I take a step closer to the stacks of bags on the pallet, covered in the blue tarp. My body swings to the side, but I manage to stay upright. It's a massive accomplishment for the effort I put in, and I don't want to fall again. I plant my feet apart and scan my current whereabouts over. The steam has gotten so thick, and it's become hard to breath without choking.

I'm across from the double doors that lead back to the Morphogenic chamber. I stare at them groggily as I take a step, and promptly lose my balance. I hit the tarp covered materials and sprawl over the blue surface. I'm hurt bad, but not done, not by a long shot. My breath wheezes and I barely get back up on my feet, ignoring the small wet patch of red I've left on the plastic cover.

Somewhere overhead the Walrider shrieks. Its hurt or it is dying at long last, one of the two. If it wasn't it would have killed me then. If it has a second chance it will succeed.

I manage to reach the doors and get one open. I leaned on the doors edge as I pushed it open, then slumped on the cool metal panel as I force it shut. I take a slow breath. _Pick up the pace Miles. Almost done. Promise._

I pushed away from the door as the Walrider came into view below, driven by its unrestrained fury to paint the walls with my blood. I took another breath, doing my best to ignore the pain chewing in my skin. It'll hold for a minute tops, but only concluding this would save my life. I spun away and pushed myself into a steady jog, and blocked. Blocked out the hum, blocked the pain. I blocked out my humanity.

The corridor seemed shorter, or maybe I remembered it wrong. I skipped to a stop at the barrels and wedged myself through, and grunted through clenched teeth as my side rubbed on the rough pallet. I dropped to my knees on the other side as my mind swam. Pain. Have to get up. But the pain dragged me down.

A mere few feet away was the metal door, the Morphogenic chamber. Everything I had wanted. Everything I had tried to accomplish. I pushed myself to my feet and gripped the handle, and used it to pull myself up until I was standing. "_Get this done. Get it done, and I can leave it all behind. All of it."_ The inhuman cry of the thing from the dark followed me, echoing in my ears. It was coming.

I stumbled through one door and dragged it shut after me. I tried not to cough on the thick vapor, as I staggered to the edge of the steps. We're good. We're good. Keep it together, almost there. I took a few deep breaths deliberately agitating my ribs, and focused on Wernicke's machine. This was it. This was the end to all this madness. Find the control panel. Deactivate the machine. Kill the creation.

The chamber looked to be in distress, the air was now clogged with dark smog. Lights flared across the ceiling, arks of electricity sparked over the dodecagon structure that dominated the center of the room. Monitors for computers regulating the machine flashed errors, probably indicating the test subject. Throughout the chambers panic, a siren blared to summon the doctors in and correct the error. But all the doctors were dead, the scientists painted the floor with their blood. There was no one left to hasten in and aid the experiment that had destroyed them.

The stairs winding to the Engines base were excruciating to rush down, but I'd rather be on them. I supported myself on one arm while the walls continued to tilt, the pulsing lights didn't help either. The camera stuffed in my shoulders sleeve was becoming obnoxious and I risked pulling it out, to have… in case. I ignored the damp spot in my coat. I'd be fine once this was done. Like magic or something. One choir I had to complete. Billy's pod was in fail safe mode, but I would fix that shortly. I'd give him the closure he deserved and I could go on with my life elsewhere.

Or what was left of it.

I made it to the floor and stumble around the barrels situated by the copper tanks. Immediately, I began hunting for the front of the machine. The primary terminal regulating control over Billy's pod. The dull thrum bore deep into my brain matter, but I only realized then that I'd left the sound behind in the corridor. The white noise had followed me.

I winced and held my chest as I scanned through the gray fog, struggling to stay on my feet as I sought both apparition and its control. Embers shot off the metal plates of the Engine and I could smell burning. God, I hated that smell, but I think it was the best thing I could have in my nose right now. The Engine was overheating, it just might burst into flames when I shut down the systems. Wouldn't know until I initiated it. I neared the front of the room with the glassed in upper floor. Where the scientists monitored the Morphogenic Engine systems through the computers. It was here, at the front. I remember that much.

When I escaped I'd have to find a safe place to lay low. This was more than what I had bargained for. With knowledge that Dr. Wernicke was alive and well following this, would only invite an unfortunate 'accident' for me in days to come. Couldn't risk losing my camera in the process, though it being so beat up might deter a theft. But I needed to make copies of the files. I needed medical attention foremost, someone I could trust. I don't know if I could make it that far.

Too much to think about. Plan it as it came. I located Billy's pod at the front of Wernicke's machine, and no more than three feet away the panel ablaze with sparks. Frantic warnings all surging, demanding attention. The experiment was doomed. I dashed to it, jarred my side, didn't give a fuck, and smashed the panel with my hand.

Done and done.

The Engine gave a remorseful hum that rumbled through my body, as it clashed across the chiseled interior of the Morphogenic chamber. It felt good. I clasped the camera between my palms and leaned back as red warnings burned on the screen.

WARNING. WARNING. FAILSAFE SYSTEM OFF.

I shut my eyes against the offensive messages and gripped the camera a little tighter in my hands, focusing on the gaps between my fingers. Like hell it was, let him die. I braced my elbows on the panel and turned my head to witness as Billy began thrashing within his pod. It looked painful. As he withered the restraints in his chest and throat tore free, releasing his blood within the nutrient fluid. I raised my camera to get all of this in, and exhaled a small breath. It was over. This nightmare was over and I could get the fuck out of here. Nothing to stop me now.

No more deformed giants, no more naked twins, no more fanatical priests. Just the road ahead and me. And my camera.

The pod was turning black with blood and my stomach turned. I looked away for a brief moment when something solid smashed into me from behind, causing my body to smack chest first into the pod. My head was pounding and I felt the vision distort in my left eye. My muscles stiffened, charged with energy and pain. No. No… He was dead! I tried to push myself back, while keeping in mind to LOCK my fingers on the cam—

Some sort of force wrenched me around and I let out a snarl as my ribs rubbed into my skin. Staring me right in the face was the Walrider, or what was left of it. The swarm was beginning to disperse, mutating the dark vapor into an insubstantial skeletal frame. Each of its links and joints were exposed for scrutiny, even the network of miniscule tubes in the dark bone. I couldn't make out where its arms were but I could feel them dig through my coat, within my shoulders with needle like ends. My vision flashed as it shoved me back against the pod, the back of my skull cracked on the hard surface and I saw a flash of red. I smelt something odd, scorched cloth or blood. Fluid dripped from nose and slid across my lip. The salty taste overwhelmed my senses.

The swarm flashed out of sight and I found myself yelling, as I accelerated with alarming speed through the air by that piercing pain IN my arms. A wall came into view through the steam, and I instinctively raised my arms before my skull could smash to bits. I hit with such force my arms and coat sleeves barely absorbed my face. My chest plowed HARD into the jagged stone, and an audible crack sounded somewhere in my muscle, over my strangled wail. The Walrider vanished, for good I doubt. I tumbled off the stone wall and hit the floor, rolling out of control. The room was spinning, even when I came to a rest on my side. I tried to hold my weight up off my tender ribs. The plastic shell of my camera scrapped the polished floor as I shifted. It was still in my grip… This wasn't over. I needed to stash it somewhere safe. I put my hand over it, feeling the fresh wet blood now spilling from the reopened wounds on my hands. I needed to get away from here, get away from this area. Who the fuck knew how long before the swarm dispersed completely.

As I was getting off my knees, the insubstantial form materialized to some degree before me. It gave a grinding hiss as it grabbed me by the shoulder, tearing into my muscles with its cold clutch and flung me high across the room. I screamed as I sailed unaided through open air, until gravity delivered me to the floor and I flopped over and over. Once the momentum abandoned me, I blinked and felt my consciousness dim. "_Up Miles! Get! UP!_"

In my fall the cameras strap had loosened over my hand, I should try to fix that. I braced my arms under my side and pushed up, and focused on the spherical pod full of dark matter. Wasn't that Billy's pod? It was getting hard to see because of the smog. This is what I told myself. In truth it was becoming difficult to see my hands beneath me. It was because of what I'd done, but I had no choice. I had to fix their mistakes. I had no idea how to finish it now. How to kill Billy.

I had only hurt him the worst way imaginable. The only way he COULD be hurt. I had become Billy Hope's Nightmare. I was now the Horerczy. I was the only thing that could kill a Walrider.

And he would prove to me, how wrong I was.

The shrieking wail shot through my eardrums, and the remains of the Walrider's dark shape loomed over me. The world became inaudible, in the one way I hated seeing the world. Far away and under water. I tried to focus on it and what it was up to, but all I managed was a wet cough. This seemed to upset it, for when I looked up it had swept over the black pod and descended onto me. It snared my midsection in its powerful grip and dragged me along the white floor. I yowled and released the camera. The bone in my finger tore at the cement as I tried to claw for a bump, a niche. Enough to knock me loose! Even if it descended upon me in the next moment and ripped me to pieces, I just wanted that one last second! A pause in this torment!

The Walrider ascended swiftly to a staggering height. I gawped wide eyed and stared at the shrinking floor below, as I dangled upside down. I moaned through my teeth as my weight bore down on its sharp form, and it repaid in kind by crushing my sides. I felt something pop in my throat as I let out an agonized sob. When we arrived at a desirable height I was flopped up, and crashed my back into the stone wall behind me. My legs kick out seeking solid surface, some comfort that I'm not so high up. In no way can I thrash free and dislodge my body from the unnatural grip tangled deep throughout my organs. I lose some of my fight when the agony constricts my chest, and I give a weak twitch as this odd tingle works from my forehead down to my toes. Death. I'm dying. I can't believe I'm dying.

The dimming form of the swarm pinned me here, and worked its hands into my chest. I grappled with my coat, unable to feel or grip and dissuade its punishment. Oh god, the sounds I made as its unnatural extremities wound through my cells and tangled with my nerves. Pain. Too much. My legs kicked and twitched in a vain effort to dislodge my body. The Walrider chattered and pressed deeper into my muscles. No god, please…. I looked down to where it had buried its arms up to its elbows, and let out a choked sob. No, please….

"_I don't want to die_…"

The bloodshed throughout the Asylum, Chris Walker, ruptured corpses and scattered innards. Everything I had been subjected to. The images I had seen pulsed white hot, intensified in my mind like wild fire. Death, the insanity, the pain. All of it burned through my mind as red soaked my memories. How long ago had it been? When was it last that I was alive?

An anguished sound spilled from my throat as I was held there, suspended twenty feet above a stone floor. The swarm reinforced its inhuman grip on my sides, or slid deeper into my guts at its leisure. Fuck, this was no damaged mind of a child. This was a wild animal devoid of remorse. This was pure evil.

This… was my end.

Gazing into the broken horror of science, my last sensations would be immeasurable pain followed by the release of the void. I had fought this far, to die in the end. What cruel irony. With my fading strength I focused on its 'face,' and I swear there was a connection. I don't know if it recognized it, if Billy understood. But I swear, it was there.

The Walrider paused in its reprieve to confirm my comprehension, my reservation for the fate it had planned for me, as all of its victims shared. It could make this last forever if it wanted. To ensure I had learned my lesson, that I knew my place. It would let me die only because it allowed it. But maybe I had already suffered enough. Then, it lurched, or that could have been me slumped in its grip. I watched blearily as it dispersed, dissolving from sight. I sobbed out in revulsion as I felt the chilling sensation of its presence grind through my bones, into my muscle. I gained enough consciousness to seize at my chest in a futile effort to hold my innards together the moment before they were expunged outwards, off of my skeleton.

I became aware that something had gone wrong about two seconds later, when I was howling against the sudden exhilaration that override the pain in my body… as I fell twenty feet to solid cement.

My shoulder hit first and my leg came down hard next, and I actually heard something snap. I felt the pierce of pain through my spine when the bone cracked. I was stunned when I couldn't decide where the injury occurred, my entire body burned with raw agony. And yet, I was still conscious and alive. I lay for a moment groaning, my mind resetting slowly as everything cleared. The alarms still wailed. Flashing red and white swirled through the room, but it wasn't the grinding howl that had pounded my senses. My migraine had suddenly cleared! Instantaneous relief flooded my skull like waking up in a soft bed, after a long, deep sleep. What happened? Why?

Carefully, I propped myself up to look around, stunned yet amazed. The air was thick with burning computer components, the smog was growing heavier. But of the threat.…

Nothing.

There was no swarm. There was no Walrider. Only the barrage of warnings and system errors as the stasis pod failed, and within it, its prisoner. Billy was dead.

I had done it. My mission was over. I had succeeded in surviving my final errand. Why didn't I feel good about it?

A few feet from where I had plummeted was my trusted confident, my camera. Did it still work? I don't think it mattered anymore. I attempted to rise, but a sharp bolt of heat traveled up my leg. The break. I turned with sluggishness to check it, and noted the large black spot along the side of my coat. No doubt the rib was exposed, I had no idea how bad the lung was punctured but with heavy despair I tasted the copious stain of copper on my tongue. I had to get out of here. Had to get up!

How easy it would have been to lie down. I braced my elbows on the cement and inhaled a careful breath, then let it out. The floor was cool to my fevered body, and all the aches and breaks could just fade away. I might never wake up, but that seemed fine. Doctor Wernicke himself told me, I was meant to die here. The moment I set foot through the open window of the Asylum, had sealed my fate. I would never be allowed to leave. Billy had made sure of that.

Braced on my elbows, I pulled my body over onto my good leg and rest my weight to the knee. I repeated this process, shuffling little by little until I had reached my camera. Everything was on this. Everything that was done here. I'd be damned if I didn't waste some precious energy to ensure its safe extraction. However far I….

I fumbled a bit with its options, while I collected my fractured mind. The camera clicked and the image was a bit distorted, but it worked. I assured myself that the vital operations would continue to function, and I could lift the images off…. later. Evidence. Proof. It needed to be confirmed on camera. I did it. I had done this. I braced my side with an arm and leveled the camera to capture an image of the murky pod, and the now deceased William Hope.

"_Billy is dead, the Walrider, the swarm, whatever it is, unmade with him. Whether I escape or die here, I am free_."

For a beat I paused to look up from my notes and gaze distantly on my surroundings. Gone. Everything the scientists had hoped to achieve, undone by their creation, and executed by my hand. I felt no pride in this, I just wanted out. Out in any manner fate saw fit for me. It would be a long walk to the exit in Block… in Block….

Fuck. I knew where it was, and that's what mattered. I'd find my way there eventually.

I secured my camera in its pack and pressed my palms to the floor, then inched my good leg under me. Satisfied with its stability I pushed up, stumbling as the world spun. The winding coil of pain worked through my bones and buried deep into my nerves. Even if my legs were chopped off, I'd still walk out on those stumps. Fuck you Trager. Fuck you. I would stand up. I would walk out of here.

The ringing in my head was near silent, and I didn't take this as a good sign. It felt like preempt shock. My body was steady enough to stay upright, but my metabolism was crashing. I was poisoned by the chemicals in my head and I needed medicine, something to stabilize my body before it killed me.

Once I had my bearings I turned, making a slow trek towards the steps that rose to the Plexiglas chamber. Shapes blurred around me, but I was certain without a doubt those were the steps I had staggered down at the beginning of the mad race. If they were not, I had plenty of time to reflect as I made my way to them. One careful step after the next, just take it easy. There was no hurry.

Only the outer bone of my leg must have snapped. I could get some weight on it but very little. It allowed me to shuffle along, without grieving my ribs any more than necessary. If I stopped moving at this point I might not be able to rouse myself from passing out.

The floor along with the yellow rail faded and I collapsed over the steps, coming up short on the metal grate as I caught myself on my elbow. The shattering pain that I had anticipated upon my fall was absent. Perhaps my adrenalin was out of control. My body was in survival, panic mode. The chemicals in my blood were poisoning my brain, from the overdose of adrenaline to whatever infections I might've picked up in the hellish sewers. I took a breath and winced, feeling the tickling itch in my side where the rib had breached the skin. There was little hope in my mind that I was going to live to see tomorrow.

But damn, I would not die here. Not here! Not in the sewers. Not in the basement. Not here! I pulled myself up by the rail and put my foot under me, I braced my knee over the next step and forced my good leg to lift my body, to burden my weight. These were the last steps I would have to deal with, I could get up them. It wouldn't be the last thing I do here. My feet were heavy, but I managed to get them over each rung and reach the clear sliding doors. I braced myself along the edge of the doorway, and stumbled into the Morphogenic Engines control room. My good leg for no other reason but to spite me gave out, and I crashed against the nearest desk. I wheezed out a pitiful breath, it tasted like copper and salt had stained my throat.

C'mon. The exit isn't much further.

I wanted to believe that. Shove hope down my throat. The exit was just down the hall, through the next set of doors after the first. Those horrible doors. It was, how many? Fifty steps. Fifty short steps, I could make that. The desk was so comfortable though, sturdy and solid, and real. I looked down at my knee crumpled under me. The room whirled around my head, far away. Hushed. Beyond my dazed senses. I was breathing hard, and a thin trail of drool had soaked a black patch in my filthy jeans. Red drops were falling from my nose, and I barely realized that my nose was bleeding. I wanted to pretend it was only a broken blood vessel caused by stress, but that was another one of those white lies. I needed to stop trying to fool myself with those.

Fifty steps. I could make fifty steps. What was fifty steps to me? I've been running around this Asylum all evening. It wasn't that much further.

I told myself this.

I promised myself these things.

I had nothing left to keep me going on.

The bright lights of the hall would have been comforting, if I wasn't so burnt out on the clinical and detached feeling of the lab. My vision distorted as I slumped against the doorframe. Take a breath, a little pause. Let my senses settle into place. I thought I saw Dr. Trager waiting by the door, running his mouth like only he could. But he looked the way he must have before whatever happened to him, complete with a fine lab coat blotted with blood. He did dress like a white collar business douchebag. Instead of golf clubs he had a syringe, and directed its sharp end into the side of my neck.

I brushed Trager aside and persisted, he couldn't stop me. No one could stop me. I felt myself falling again, my legs dissolved under my weight. When did I become so heavy? I braced my arm to the floor and tried to stay off the camera, I was slipping down to my side. To just give in. To just sink into the sleep and never wake up.

The lights dimmed to some degree, or my eyes were shutting, but the Walrider hoisted me up and we continued. We were so close to the doors, they were a few steps and a stumble away. The chiseled white walls of the corridor seemed brighter, but its luminous intensity didn't burn my eyes as it had in my previous trip through. The air was calm, almost alarming to my overtaxed mind. I tried to remind myself this was the way it was meant to be, when you were not cowering under a massive migraine. This was sweet liberation from the pain. I was just exhausted.

I was getting near the exit of the Morphogenic wing now, and a wave of relief enveloped me. A deadly contribution to my sick mind. My steps faltered and I dropped, managing somehow to hit my cheek on the cement floor without cracking a tooth. The Walrider waited beside me as my scattered mind cleared. I heard Father Martin whisper something into my ear, the same as when he first found me. I wanted to ask if there was a heaven waiting for me. He only smiled, and the buzzing in my limbs murmured something with great urgency. I just wanted the world to stop.

The lights faded before I blinked back into clarity. No. Don't sleep, don't fall. Not here. I'm so close. A small red puddle had gathered under my cheek, and I gladly lifted myself from it. I took a moment to pull together, and swallow down the blood that lined my throat. No more fading, no more pauses. It was obvious by now I could not escape my fate, I had been fooling myself from the beginning. For me, nothing lay beyond this place but death. But goddamn it, I was NOT going to die inside these cold labs where so many had perished in the name of science. I would get outside and I would die bathed in the warmth of the sun, knowing that I had beaten them all!

With that resolve whirring in my head I put my weight on my fist and pushed, rising up one last time. Once and for all, I would make it out of this fucked up place. I felt a bit of my strength returning as I shuffled forward, maybe I had been out for a minute, or an hour. However long was enough. I wasn't stopping until I was finally in sunlight.

I was reminded briefly of my mutilations as I reached for the handles of the doors. My index finger on my right hand, and my ring finger were—

A sudden gust of air swept over my face as the doors swung outward. I was not processing what was happening, as the click of weapons primed for assault were shoved at me. Guns. Assault rifles. Held by soldiers. MHS. Special tactical cops, the same as the one that had warned me away seconds before his death. Dazed, I wondered if he was still dead. It took a half second before the panic finally latched onto my mind, the realization that this was happening. This was really happening right here. They were in my way, and they were going to kill me.

Not armed! I wasn't armed! Did they think I was dangerous, had they mistake me for a variant? True, I had forgotten how god awful I must have looked, but I couldn't help it! I could hardly stand! I put out my hands and limped back trying to warn them, but all that came out was a spray of blood as I exhaled a pitiful sound. I sniffled, trying to clear the blood in my nose. No! Don't do this. Not when I was so fucking CLOSE!

Then I saw him. The man I promised to fix up nicely with a hacksaw, if given the chance alone with his corpse. Dr. Rudolf Wernicke, amidst these militants, and waiting patiently for my requiem. I fixed him with my eyes. A look of betrayal? A look of bafflement? Why, after everything I have done for you, would you end me right here, and right now? I wanted to die in the fuckin sunlight!

The first bullet hit before the piercing resonance shattered my thoughts. I spun on my bad leg upon receiving full impact. My vision blurred but I didn't feel the pain, it hadn't been recorded yet in my nerves. Then, I thought I saw, right there.

My shadow….

Without a word, the hall is filled with the magazine chatter as the lead soldier emptied his arsenal in me. I was only grateful as I dropped, that about a fourth of the expense had lodged into my torso and hip. Not like a concussion; not like a splitting migraine. I'm still me, I can feel it settle deep in my marrow.

This time it didn't hurt to collapse to my backside. A splash of blood hit me in the face, from about a dozen severed arteries. I had this odd sense of vertigo, an out of body experience as the darkness pooled over my eyes. Dying. God, my bodies dying. I can feel it - sliding off from me. This is real, this is happening... In the now. It's sinking in. The futility of it all... death. My death. It's just... I'm losing touch. Everything stopped inside me, and... I can't restart it.

No.

In my last moments, I can ponder over the cruel irony. That no matter my hopes, my aspirations tangled into this god awful place. Even the soldiers with their guns could not steal it all away.

I am free.

My consciousness drained out, and coalesced… elsewhere. It was all over. I was done. Lost. My vision blurred, dimmed. I'm too damned tired to resist any longer. Give in. Sleep. The world became a far off impression, a recollection in a pool that I could gaze down into, and saw only my reflection. It was all I had come to expect in the end; ragged, soaking red, and broken.

Forget...

Somewhere. Someone stuttered in utter disbelief, "Gott im Himmel. You have become the host."

That hissing whirr. The static in my camera that I had grown accustomed to, filled my skull. The sounds of gun chatter persisted, and the frantic shrieks of men met my dulled senses. This crushing thought came over me as I accepted the void, the shadow, the emptiness of my failure. There would be no light waiting for me on the other side. There was no afterlife, no rest for my weary soul. Instead, I only saw red.


	25. Not a chapter

Hello and glorious day my astute readers, and newcomer readers. I have an Endnote here if you care to forfeit the time, I promise it will not take long. So sit tight and dry your tears, and say a prayer for our dear Protagonist, Miles Upshur.

Foremost, I want to say a hearty and full blown thank you to my readers who have arrived to the conclusion of our adventure. Yes, this seems to be the end. Miles has fallen and he can't get up. He has endured many hardships, but it seems he had resigned himself to the very end to find the liberation he deserved from that god awful place. Or did he?

A few peeps have asked if I planned to novelize the Outlast Whistle Blower. This sounds like a fantastical idea, even if the ending of Whistleblower is as heart wrenching as Outlast. I'd fear misinterpreting Weylon's character, and generate a story that is an Outlast rehash and rewrite. But I've had a few ideas of Weylon's character, and we seem to begin the game from the point Miles Upshur left off. Filled with static and subjected to Morphogenic treatment, yet still struggling to retain what little pieces of his sanity remain. I can work with this.

But I also look to sign up for a class in the summer to help catch me up with school, and there's the aspect of job hunting. I've never been good with job hunting.

Once more a hurrah to my readers for their reviews, and those quiet lurkers that throw down a fav. It means the world to me that I was able to give something back to the fandom. Have a wonderful summer, and stay out of those abandon asylums and open windows.

BVeR


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